of a sudden, to
his acute dismay, he saw the pole slip from his comrade's grasp.

Bill staggered on the edge of a pan, and gave a desperate wrench of
the body to save himself from falling. In vain. In another instant he
was struggling in the waves. In a moment more the pans might crush
him, or he might be so benumbed that he could make no further effort
to help himself.

While the Doctor stood there in mental anguish because he could do
nothing to help his comrade, he saw Bill with a desperate effort throw
a burly leg over the edge of the pan and scramble out, seemingly none
the worse for the ducking.

All Bill could do now was to stand on his pan and let the wind and the
sea take him where they would.

Grenfell kept on shooting, but there was no response from the shore.

Bill's pan crept nearer and nearer to the Doctor's--but not near
enough to let Bill get back.

At last the shooting was answered.

They saw the flash of an oar--always the first signal of rescue under
these conditions--and a boat hove in sight.

The two men on the ice shouted excited encouragement to each other at
the same instant.

The rescuers were not less joyful than the rescued. Such events as
this have led some of the fishermen to believe that Grenfell leads a
charmed life, and that the winds and the seas are aware that he is
their master.

He had now spent a precious month in trying to break the ice-blockade.
Since the ice had backed away a short distance from the coast,
Grenfell now thought he might use the mission steamer herself, the
brave _Strathcona_, to get round the northern end of the peninsula and
so follow his original plan of a journey down the west coast. Compared
with the _Strathcona_, the mail steamer was palatial luxury.

All went well enough till they came to the Straits. There it was the
old story. The ice was piled mountainously, in a barricade that meant
a long siege to penetrate. What was still worse, it closed in suddenly
about the ship, just as it has so often embraced Arctic explorers. The
_Strathcona_ might not be able to rid herself of the encumbrance for
many days, perhaps for several weeks.

One way was left--to walk. The distance was ninety miles--and what
miles they were!

Like the snail, he had to carry all his baggage on his back. It
included a frying-pan, blankets, food, and a suit of clothes fit to
wear at the meeting of the board of directors,--a sufficient burden
for two human shoulder-blades.