announced that they no longer had any oil upon Cabot's return at dusk
from a day of fruitless hunting and outlook duty on the ice.

"That's bad," replied the latter, in a tone whose cheerfulness strove
to conceal his anxiety. "Now we'll have to burn the sled. Lucky thing
for us that it's of wood instead of being one of those bone affairs
such as we saw at Locked Harbour."

"Our provisions are nearly gone too," added White. "In fact we've only
enough for one more day."

"Oh, well! A lot of things can happen in a day, and some of them may
happen to us."

But the only thing worthy of note that happened on the following day
was a storm of such violence as to compel even stout-hearted Cabot to
remain behind the sheltering walls of the hut, and, while it raged, our
shivering lads, crouched above a tiny blaze of sled wood, ate their
last morsel of food. They still had a small quantity of tea, but that
was all. As soon, therefore, as the storm abated Cabot sallied forth
with his gun, still hopeful, in spite of many disappointments, of
finding some bird or beast that, by a lucky shot, might be brought to
the table.

The ice pack was of such vast extent that it seemed as though it must
support animal life of some kind, but Cabot traversed it that day for
many miles without finding so much as a track or a feather. That
night's supper was a pot of tea, and a similar one formed the sole
nourishment upon which Cabot again set forth the next morning for
another of those weary hunts.

This time he went further from the hut than he had dared go on previous
expeditions; but on them he had been hopeful and knew that even though
he failed in his hunting he would still find food awaiting him on his
return. Now he was desperate with hunger, and the knowledge that
failing in his present effort he would not have strength for another.
In his mind, too, he carried a vivid picture of poor White, crouching
in that wretched hut over an expiring blaze fed by the very last of
their wood.

"I simply can't go back empty-handed!" he cried aloud. "It would be
better not to go back at all, and let him hope for my coming to the
last."

So the young hunter pushed wearily and hopelessly on, until he found
himself at the foot of a line of icebergs that had been frozen into the
pack, where they resembled a range of fantastically shaped hills.
Cabot had seen them from a distance on a previous expedition, and had
wondered what lay beyond. N