hat was now a race for life. But it
was a snail's race, for the task of moving the sled had devolved
entirely upon Cabot, White having all he could do to drag himself
along. Each step gave him such exquisite pain that, by the time they
had accomplished a couple of miles, he was crawling on hands and knees.

Still, as Cabot hopefully pointed out, the Newfoundland coast was in
plain sight, and the ice held as firm as ever. He had hardly spoken
when there came a distant roaring, that quickly developed into a sound
of crashing and grinding not to be mistaken.

"The ice is moving!" gasped White.

"Then," said Cabot bravely, "we'll move too. Come on, old man. We'll
leave the sled, and I'll get you ashore even if I have to carry you.
It isn't so very far now."

With this the speaker disengaged his hauling straps and turned to
assist his comrade, but, to his dismay, the latter lay on the ice pale
and motionless. What with pain, over-exertion, and excitement, White
had fainted, and Cabot must either carry him to the shore, remain
beside him until he recovered, or leave him to his fate and save
himself by flight over the still unbroken ice. He tried the first
plan, picked White up, staggered a few steps with his helpless burden,
and discovered its futility. Then he proceeded to put the second into
execution by calmly unloading the sled and making such arrangements as
his slender means would allow for his comrade's comfort. The third
plan came to him merely as a thought, to be promptly dismissed as
unworthy of consideration.

In the meantime the ominous sounds of cracking, grinding, rending, and
splitting grew ever louder, and came ever closer, until, at length,
Cabot could see and feel that the ice all about him was in motion. By
the time White recovered consciousness, a broad lane of black water had
opened between that place and the Newfoundland coast, while others
could be seen in various directions.

"What are you doing?" asked White, feebly, after he had struggled back
to a knowledge of passing events, and had, for some minutes, been
watching his friend's movements.

"Building an igloo," answered Cabot, cheerily. "We might as well be
comfortable while we can, and though my hut won't have the
architectural beauty that Yim could give it, I believe it will keep us
warm."

It would have been more than easy, and perfectly natural, under the
circumstances, to give way to utter despair; for of the several
hopel