First at the North Pole Part 38

"Looks to me as if some other animal had chewed it off."

"If it hadn't been for that, he would have outrun us," answered Mr.

Dawson.

They spent the remainder of the day looking for more game, and toward nightfall started for camp, dragging the bear after them.

"We'll take him as far as possible, and then send the Esquimaux out for him with a sledge," said the explorer.

All thought they knew the direction of the camp, but in looking for game they had become more or less turned around, and now Barwell Dawson called a halt.

"We may as well camp here for tonight," he said. "We don't want to tire ourselves out when it isn't necessary."

Some snow was sc.r.a.ped up, and a hut constructed, and they went inside and had supper. It was a cold meal, but they were hungry, and enjoyed every mouthful. Then they fixed the snow hut a little better, and lay down to sleep.

They had been resting for about three hours, when Chet awoke with a start. A loud barking had awakened him.

"Dogs!" he murmured. "Must be one of the Esquimaux has come for us."

The barking had also awakened the others, and getting up, the three crawled out of the snow hut.

"They are not dogs, they are foxes!" cried Barwell Dawson.

"Yes, and look at the number!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Andy. "Must be fifty at least!"

"Fifty?" repeated Chet. "All of a hundred, or else I don't know how to count!"

Chet was right--there were all of a hundred foxes outside, sitting in a bunch, with their heads thrown back barking l.u.s.tily. They had followed the blood-stained trail of the polar bear, and wanted to get at the game.

"This is very unpleasant," said the explorer, gravely. "I didn't think we'd meet foxes so far north. They can't get much to eat up here, and they must be very hungry."

"Do you fancy they will attack us?" questioned Andy.

"I don't know what they will do. They want the bear, that's certain."

"If we only had a good campfire that would keep them at a distance."

"Yes, but there is nothing here with which to build a fire."

"Supposing we give 'em a dose of shot?" suggested Chet.

"You can try it."

Chet had the shotgun, and taking careful aim at the pack of foxes, he fired. The flash of the firearm was followed by a wild yelp from the animals, and three leaped up, and then fell on the ice badly wounded.

The others of the pack retreated for a few minutes, then came back to their former position, barking more loudly than ever.

"They are certainly game," said Mr. Dawson. "Killing off a few of them don't scare the others."

"What are we to do?" asked Chet, dubiously. He had fancied the foxes would disappear at the discharge of the shotgun--for that was what foxes usually did down in Maine.

"We'll do our best to stand them off until it grows lighter," answered Barwell Dawson.

"Do you think they will run away if we go out after them?"

"Not if they are very hungry. Remember, a hungry animal is always desperate."

Sleep was now out of the question, and they took turns in watching the foxes from the entrance to the snow hut. It was too cold to remain outside long.

"They are coming closer," announced Andy, after two hours had pa.s.sed.

The foxes had stopped barking some time previously.

The report was true. The beasts were coming up stealthily, moving a foot or two, and then stopping to reconnoiter.

"I'll give them another shot from the gun," said Chet, and was as good as his word. This time two of the foxes were killed, and almost immediately their companions fell upon the carca.s.ses, and began to tear them apart.

"That shows how hungry they are," declared Barwell Dawson.

"Shall we give up the bear to them?" asked Chet.

"Not yet--but we may have to do so in order to escape them," answered the explorer, with a doubtful shake of his head.

Another hour went by slowly, and by shouting they managed to make the foxes keep their distance. But then the animals commenced to come closer once more, slowly but surely encircling the snow hut.

It was a perilous situation to be in, and the youths realized it fully, as did Mr. Dawson. At any moment the foxes might make a concerted attack, and what could three persons do against ninety or more of such beasts?

But now it was growing lighter, for which those in the hut were thankful. As the glow of the morning sun shone in the sky, Andy set up a loud shout and flung a fair-sized cake of ice at the foxes. The ice went gliding along, and struck one fox in the forelegs, wounding him severely.

"Hurrah! why didn't we think of that before!" cried Chet.

"A good idea," put in Barwell Dawson. "We'll treat them as if they were ten-pins!"

Some loose ice was handy, and taking aim at the foxes, they sent piece after piece bowling over the icy surface on which they stood. The animals had again gathered in a pack, so they could not be missed. If one leaped out of the way, the chunk of ice hit the next, and soon there were howls of pain from several. Then the foxes retreated, and when Chet fired another shot, they suddenly turned tail, and trotted off, around a distant hill and out of sight.

"They didn't like the ice and the daylight," said Barwell Dawson. "I doubt if they come back very soon. They may try it again tonight, but we'll be in camp by that time."

Again they took up the march for camp, dragging the bear behind them as before. Going was fairly easy, and dragging the bear over the smooth surface was not much work, but whether they were heading just right was a question. Many times Barwell Dawson tried to get his bearings, but without success.

"I think I'll have to climb yonder hill and take a look around," said he, when the sun was fairly high. "We ought to be able to locate the camp from there."

"We'll go along," said Andy, who did not care to be left alone in such a field of desolation.

"Yes, I would like to take a look around myself--just to see how the land--or, rather, ice--lies," added his chum.

Leaving the bear where it was, the three started to climb the icy hill on their left. The snow on the side aided them, and they reached the summit with little difficulty.

"Phew! here is where one feels the wind!" cried Andy, as he drew his coat closer.

"Cuts like a knife, doesn't it?" answered Chet. "Wonder what it will be up at the Pole."

"Colder than this--you may be sure of that," answered Barwell Dawson.