of fighting power left in him, and as some of the harpoons had come
out while several of the floats had broken loose, there was just a
possibility that he might yet escape if not vigorously followed up.

Suddenly one of the Eskimos was seen to drop his paddle and point with
both hands to the sky, uttering at the same time a cry of surprise and
alarm. There was no mistaking the cry. Every paddle ceased to dip, and
every eye was turned to the sky. Of course every voice gave forth a
howl!

"A mystery!" shouted Grabantak.

"An evil spirit!" cried Koyatuk.

"A new kind of bird!" roared Teyma.

At that moment a cry louder than ever arose. Leo's boat was observed
coming like a narwhal over the sea, with the foam flying from its bows!

The "new kind of bird," so they at first imagined, had let down a long
thin tail, caught the boat of the white man, and was flying away with
it!

Into the midst of them the boat rushed. They dashed aside right and
left. Leo was standing in the bow. He moved not, spoke not, looked at
no one, but stood up, bent a little forward, with a stern frown on his
brow, his lips compressed, and the long lance held level in both hands
as if in the act of charging.

"Catch hold of him!" yelled Grabantak as they flew past. As well might
they have tried to catch a comet!

"Steer a little to the left," said Leo in a low tone.

Obedient, on the instant, the girl made a sharp stroke with the oar.

"Steady--so. Now, Oblooria, hold on tight for your life!"

They were going straight at the whale. Leo did not dare to think of the
result of his intended attack. He could not guess it. He hoped all
would be well. He had no time to think of _pros_ and _cons_. They were
close to the victim. On it, now, sliding over its back, while the sharp
lance entered its body with the full momentum of the charge,--deep down
into its vitals! Blood flew out like a waterspout. The lance was torn
from Leo's grasp as he fell backwards. Oblooria leaped up, in wild
excitement, dropped her oar, and clapped her hands. At that instant the
stout traction-line snapped, and the boat remained fast, while the kite
descended in a series of helpless gyrations into the sea. Next moment
the whale went down in a convulsive struggle, and the boat, with its
daring occupants, was whelmed in a whirlpool of blood and foam.

No cry proceeded from the Eskimos during this stupendous attack. They
seemed bereft alike of voice and