First at the North Pole: or, Two Boys in the Arctic Circle

“Oh, yes, I thought I had seen you somewhere.”

Here the conversation lapsed, for Barwell Dawson was still weak. He lay back and closed his eyes, and the boys did not disturb him.

It continued to snow, until the fresh fall covered the old to the depth of several inches. The boys kept the campfire going, and cooked such game as they had brought along.

“We are booked to stay here for a while, that’s certain,” observed Chet. “No Lodgeport today.”

After a while Barwell Dawson sat up again, and gladly partook of the food offered to him. His injuries consisted of a hard shaking up, a bruised ankle, and several cuts on his head.

“I am thankful that no bones are broken, and that I did not get killed,” he said, and then he requested them to give the details of the rescue from the ledge. The boys related their story, to which he listened closely.

“It was fine of you to get me down,” he declared. “Fine! I’ll have to reward you.”

“I don’t want any reward,” answered Andy, promptly.

“Nor do I,” added Chet.

“Well, you ought to let me do something for you,” persisted the one who had been rescued.

“You might tell us of some of your hunting adventures,” said Andy, with a smile. “I’d like to hear about hunting in the far West and other places.”

“So would I,” added Chet. “If I had the money, I’d like to do like you have done, travel all over the world and hunt.” And his eyes glistened with anticipation.

“What do you do now?”

“Nothing at present. We can’t get an opening at any of the lumber camps.”

“I understand business is very dull this season.”

After that Barwell Dawson asked for more particulars concerning the boys, and they told him how they were situated. He was surprised to learn that Chet was practically alone in the world.

“It is certainly hard luck,” he said, kindly. “You must let me do something for you.”

Then, after his ankle had been bathed in hot water, and bound up, the hunter and traveler told them of his trips to various portions of the globe, and how he had hunted deer and moose in one place, bears and mountain lions in another, and tigers and other wild beasts elsewhere. He had two very interested listeners.

“It must be great!” murmured Chet. “Oh, that would suit me down to the ground – to go out that way!”

“I have made one trip to the north,” continued Barwell Dawson, “and I am soon going to make another.”

“You mean to Canada?” queried Andy.

“Not exactly. I am going to Greenland, and then into the polar regions. I want to hunt seals, polar bears, and musk oxen.”

“You’ll be frozen to death!”

“Hardly,” answered the hunter. “On my previous trip I stood the cold very well, and this time I shall go much better prepared. Somehow, I like hunting in the Arctic Circle better than hunting anywhere else. Besides, I wish to – But never mind that now,” and Barwell Dawson broke off rather abruptly. Then he told a story of a hunt after polar bears that made Chet’s eyes water.

“That’s the stuff!” whispered Chet to Andy. “That beats a deer hunt all hollow!”

“Yes, provided the polar bear doesn’t eat you up.”

“Huh! I’d not be afraid. I don’t believe a polar bear is any more dangerous than a moose.”

“I saw a moose just before I had the tumble,” said Barwell Dawson. “I climbed up the cliff after him, but I couldn’t get very close. I took two shots at him, but he got away.”

“If we are going to be snowed up here we ought to try for some game,” said Chet. “Maybe I can stir up some rabbits, or something.”

It was decided that he should go out, leaving Andy to look after Mr. Dawson and the campfire.

“But don’t go far,” cautioned Andy. “The snow is coming down so thick that you may get lost.”

“Oh, I’ll take care of myself,” answered Chet.

He knew it would be a bad move to go out into the open, so he kept to the timber, blazing a tree here and there as he went along. He knew very little game would be stirring.

“If I get anything it will be more accident than anything else,” he reasoned. “No animal is going to stir out in this storm.”

He was just passing under a big spruce tree when, chancing to glance up, he saw a sight that quickened his pulse. On a limb close at hand were several wild turkeys, huddled together to keep warm.

With great caution he moved to one side, to get a good aim. Then, raising his gun, he blazed away. There was a whirr and a flutter, and two of the turkeys came down, one dead and the other wounded. Rushing forward, Chet caught the wounded bird by the neck, and soon put it out of its misery.

“That’s a good start,” he told himself, with much satisfaction. “I hope my luck continues.”

Placing the game in his bag, he went forward again, looking for more signs of birds, and also for signs of squirrels and rabbits.

It was growing dark, and Chet began to think it was time to turn back, when he saw some rabbits in a thick clump of bushes. He sprang in after them, and they leaped out into the snow and across a small opening. Then, before he could fire, they were out of sight again.

“You shan’t get away from me as easily as that,” the youth muttered to himself, and ran out into the opening. Here the snow was so thick he could see but little, yet he kept on, and soon reached more brushwood. He saw some branches close to the snow move, and blazed away in the dark.

His aim proved true, for when he came up he found one rabbit dead. Another had been wounded, as the blood on the snow showed. In all haste he made after the limping game. But the rabbit had considerable life left in it, and dove deep into the brushwood. But at last it had to give up, and Chet secured the additional game without much trouble.

It had grown dark rapidly, and in some anxiety the young hunter turned back, in an endeavor to retrace his steps. This was no easy matter, for the snow was coming down as thickly as ever, and he could scarcely see two yards ahead of him.

“It won’t do for me to get lost out here,” he reasoned. “If I don’t get back, Andy will be worried to death.”

Bending to meet the snow – for the wind was now blowing briskly, Chet pushed forward until another clump of trees was gained. Walking was becoming irksome, and he panted for breath. Under the trees he paused to get his bearings.

“I must be right,” he thought. Yet, try his best, he could not locate any of the trees he had blazed a short while before.

Any other lad might have become frightened at the prospect, but Chet was used to being alone, and he simply resolved to move forward with increased caution.

“If the worst comes, I can fire three shots in succession. Andy will know what that means,” he reasoned. On previous trips to the woods the boys had arranged that three shots meant, “I am lost. Where are you?” A single shot was to be the answer – repeated, of course, as often as necessary.

Another hundred feet were covered, and Chet was looking vainly for one of the blazed trees, when an unexpected sound broke upon his ears.

It was an unusual and uncanny noise, and he stopped short to listen. It came from a clump of spruces to his left.

“Now, what can that be?” he asked himself. “I never heard a noise like that before.”