't, I'll figure
that there's something wrong, and do what seems advisable."

They agreed to that, and when next morning a little breeze came out of
the creeping haze, they sailed the _Selache_ slowly shorewards among the
drifting ice until, at nightfall, an apparently impenetrable barrier
stretched gleaming faintly ahead of them. Wyllard turned in soon
afterwards and slept soundly. All his preparations had been made during
the winter and there was no occasion for new plans. When morning broke
he breakfasted before he went out on deck. The boat was already packed
with provisions, sleeping-bags, a tent, and two light sled frames, on
one of which it seemed possible that they might haul her a few miles.
She was very light and small, and had been built for such a purpose as
they had in view.

The schooner lay to with backed fore-staysail tumbling wildly on a dim,
gray sea. Half a mile away the ice ran back into a dingy haze, and there
was a low, gray sky to weather. Now and then a fine sprinkle of snow
slid across the water before a nipping breeze. As Wyllard glanced to
windward Dampier strode up to him.

"I guess you'd better put it off," he said. "I don't like the weather;
we'll have wind before long."

Wyllard smiled, and Dampier made a forceful gesture.

"Then," he advised, "I'd get on to the ice just as soon as possible.
You're still quite a way off the beach."

Wyllard shook hands with him. "We should make the inlet in about nine
days, and if I don't turn up in three weeks you'll know there's
something wrong," he said. "If there's no sign of me in another week you
can take her home again."

Dampier, who made no further comment, bade them swing the boat over, and
when she lay heaving beneath the rail Wyllard and Charly and one Indian
dropped into her. It was only a preliminary search they were about to
engage in, for they had decided that if they found nothing they would
afterwards push further north or inland when they had supplied
themselves with fresh stores from the schooner.

They gazed at the _Selache_ with grim faces as they pulled away, and
Wyllard, who loosed his oar a moment to wave his fur cap when Dampier
stood upon her rail, was glad when a fresher rush of the bitter breeze
forced him to fix his attention on his task. The boat was heavily
loaded, and the tops of the gray seas splashed unpleasantly close about
her gunwale. She was running before them, rising sharply, and dropping
down into the holl