Small wonder that none had glimpsed the silver hull of the great Nardak! For on the desert of ice, when the search party from the Kravassin made landing, they found the whole crew of the lost dirigible—but no dirigible. Not at first, anyway. Instead before their eyes lay a vast mound of snow. Within those tons of white drift lay the wreck of the Nardak—two engines smashed, and no fuel to run those that were left.

Haggard, bearded men, in whom hope had long been dead, laughed and shouted and prayed when they saw the great ship, and the rescue party swarming over the ice.

“The impossible! A miracle out of the sky! How are we found?” gasped the worn, emaciated Captain Jan.

“The miracle? Wireless it was,” Markovitch the Russian made answer in his halting, precise English. He whirled Renaud around and thrust him forward. “And this youngster the miracle-man is. With some broken wire and bottles, he called to the world, and the world sent men to the rescue.”

But miracles were not over, for the wreck of the Nardak was to go out of the Arctic under her own power.

Snow was shoveled off the huge hull. The Kravassin’s machine shop had tools and furnaces and fusing power to rehabilitate the dirigible and put her back into the air again. Sufficient fuel was spared from the ship’s tanks to get the Nardak to Spitzbergen, that strange Arctic island port where enormous gasoline tanks and lofty aerials of radio towers mark man’s progress in the conquest of the ice country.

From Spitzbergen, the route lay on to Oslo, Norway, where further repairing and refueling were attended to. Then it was off across the North Atlantic, headed for the welcoming shores of America!

These adventurers into the mysterious North were bringing back wealth, and a knowledge of where lay Nakaluka, that Arctic lake edged with rock rich in golden gifts. Arctic gold had nearly cost them their lives, but it had led them to witness strange, wild sights. Now that it was nearly over, Lee Renaud felt thankful for that wonderful experience—and living to get out again.

Behind them lay a great white land of a frozen world lit by weird lights, swept by winds of power—a mighty splendor that few humans ever see and live to tell of.

Before them lay Home!

Across the Atlantic in two days! Sighting the shores of America—passing above the great statue of the Goddess of Liberty, her arm lifted in silent greeting—then on over New York, and landing beyond the city!

Radio, the long arm of mysterious sound that had rescued the Nardak from the ice barrens—radio now welcomed her home. Since the time the Nardak had touched on the shores of civilized Europe, hour by hour, minute by minute, America had kept track of her return.

Bulletins had posted the shops and theaters of the land, “Nardak four hours away”—“Nardak sighted”—“Nardak coming in!”

Lee Renaud knew from the interest and enthusiasm of those radio calls that the home country was awaiting her wanderers—but for all that, he was taken back by the vast crowd that viewed their arrival. As far as the eye could see, the flying field, the streets, the housetops were black with people. Bands were playing. A thunder of shouts greeted the dirigible as she settled on American soil once again.

Young Renaud was among the last to step down from the Nardak’s open hatch. A hush fell as he came into sight, and a pathway opened before him. Then Captain Bartlot had him by the shoulder, pushing him forward, making him look up to where a triumphal arch loomed right ahead—an arch built of flowers, decked with the flags of the nations of the world and set with letters thirty inches high.

Lee Renaud’s head swam dizzily as he looked up at those letters:

“Stand by—the Arctic on the air! Greeting to Renaud of the Radio! He linked the world with his wireless call!”

And America greeted her Renaud. Shouts roared up. People laughed and cried and hurrahed over a bewildered, dark-haired hero, who couldn’t quite take it in that it was he they were shouting over.

Out of the throng, an imposing gentleman fought his way close, grasped Lee’s hand and burst into hurried speech: “Represent the Amalgamated Radio Corporation of America—have come a thousand miles to be first on the ground. Our corporation offers you a million dollars for the rights to your portable radio—”

“Sir, I’ll talk later—please,” and Lee pushed forward. Over there, could he believe his eyes? His mother, Great-uncle Gem pounding his cane and waving wildly, Jimmy Bobb in a chair—they had come all the way here, just to see him!