guide?" asked Lucile.

"You'll see. C'm'on," said the boy, leading the way.

For a mile they traveled over the solid shore-ice. They then came to a
stretch of water, dark as midnight. At the edge of this was a
two-seated kiak.

Phi motioned Lucile to a seat. Deftly, he paddled her across to the
other side. It was with a sinking feeling that she felt herself
silently carried toward the north by the gigantic ice-floe.

Marian and the dog were quickly ferried over. Then, after drawing the
kiak upon the ice, the boy turned directly north and began walking
rapidly. At times he broke into a run.

"Have to make good time," he explained as he snatched Marian's roll of
sketches from her hand. "Got to get the trail."

They did make good time. Alternately running and walking, they kept up
a pace of some six or seven miles an hour.

"Why, I thought--thought we were going to go east," puffed Marian.
"We're just going down the beach."

Phi did not answer.

They had raced on for nearly an hour when they suddenly came upon a
kiak drawn up as theirs had been on the ice.

"Ah! I thought so," said the boy. "Now's the time for a guide. Here,
Rover!"

He seized the dog by his collar and set him on the invisible trail of
the men who had deserted that kiak. The dog walked slowly away,
sniffing the ice as he went. His course was due east. The three
followed him in silence. Presently his speed increased. He took on an
air of confidence. With tail up, ears back, he sniffed the ice only
now and then as he dashed over great, flat pans, then over little
mountains of broken ice, to emerge again upon flat surfaces.

Marian understood, and her admiration for Phi grew. He had found the
trail of the men who had crossed the Straits before them. He had put
Rover on that trail. Rover could not fail to follow. The trail was
fresh, only seven hours old. Rover could have followed one as many
days old.

"Good old Rover," Marian murmured, "good old Rover, a white man's dog."

All at once a question came to her mind. They had been obliged to go
several miles north to pick up the trail. This was due to the movement
of the floe. This movement still continued. It was carrying them
still farther to the north. The Diomede Islands, halfway station of
the Straits, were small; they offered a goal only two or three miles in
length. If they were carried much farther north, would they not miss
the islands?

She confided her