"I did," answered Barwell Dawson. "It is as peculiar as it is beautiful."

He had noticed the purple ice several days before, and also several mirages in the sky,--mirages that looked like hills and mountains, but which he knew were only optical delusions. Coming northward, the party had also had a splendid view of the _aurora borealis_, or Northern Lights, that mysterious glow thought to be electrical or magnetic. Once Andy had said that he could hear the lights, and that they sounded like the low hissing of steam.

It grew colder that night, and it was all the explorers could do to keep from freezing. They had a small quant.i.ty of tea left--a quarter of a pound--and after melting some snow over their alcohol stove, drank the beverage boiling hot. Then they made themselves a hot stew of pemmican and ground-up peas. Each of the dogs received a chunk of frozen walrus meat, something they gnawed on savagely, so great was their hunger.

The next day the sun was clouded, so that it was impossible for the professor to take any observations. But they knew they had not yet reached their goal, and so they pushed on, over ice that was hummocky, but not nearly as bad as it had been.

"h.e.l.lo!" cried Andy, about the middle of the afternoon. "What's that yonder?"

He pointed to their left, where a dark object lay on the ice, half covered with loose snow.

"Might as well see what it is," said Barwell Dawson, who was as curious as the others. So far, in that land of desolation, they had seen absolutely nothing but ice, snow, and open water.

They moved to the spot and saw that the dark object was the carca.s.s of a dog, frozen stiff. Beside the dog lay a board of a sledge.

"Look!" exclaimed Barwell Dawson, as he held up the board. "Do you see what it says?"

All looked at the bit of wood and saw, burnt upon it, the following:

PEARY--1909

"It is something from the Peary expedition!" said Professor Jeffer. "He must have gotten up here ahead of us!"

"It certainly looks that way," answered Barwell Dawson. "Well, he deserved to reach the Pole, after his many years of untiring efforts."

Leaving the board as a silent monument, the four continued on their way northward. Again the wind was blowing from the west, and they calculated that it was on the increase.

"With the thermometer down so low, if it blows very strong we'll be frozen stiff," declared Chet. "Why, a winter in Maine is a hothouse alongside of this!"

The next day, owing to the wind, they made but scant progress. It was cloudy, yet just around noon the sun peeped from behind the clouds, and Professor Jeffer hurried to take an observation. Barwell Dawson gave him the correct time, and the old scientist quickly succeeded in making his computations.

"Well, how do we stand?" asked Mr. Dawson, when Professor Jeffer had finished.

"We are within twenty-two miles of the Pole," was the answer that thrilled the hearts of all.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE TOP OF THE WORLD AT LAST

"We'll get there tomorrow!"

"If the weather permits, Andy."

"Oh, we must get there, Chet! Just think of it--only twenty-two miles more! Why, it's nothing alongside of what we have already traveled."

"Well, food is running very low."

"Oh, I know that. Didn't I take an extra hole in my belt last night after supper? I feel as flat as a board."

A day had been spent in camp, with the wind blowing furiously, and a fine, salt-like snow falling. They had tried to go on, but had covered less than half a mile when Barwell Dawson had called a halt.

"It's no use," he had said, with a sigh. "We can't do anything in this wind. Let us keep our strength until it subsides."

They had spent the day in mending the sledge, which was in danger of going to pieces, and in fixing up their foot coverings, which were woefully ragged.

It was still blowing when they started again on their journey. But it was not nearly so bad as before, and the snow had ceased to come down.

The sun, however, was still under the clouds, and the sky looked gray and sullen.

"I don't know that I'd care to live here the year round," said Andy, with an attempt at humor. "It would be too hard to dig the potatoes."

"Or go swimming," answered Chet. "Every time a fellow wanted a bath, he'd have to chop a hole in the ice."

"Or tumble in a lead."

"But, just the same, if we do reach the Pole, what a story we'll have to tell when we get back!"

"We'll not be the first at the Pole."

"We'll be the first boys at the Pole."

"Right you are."

They trudged on, occasionally urging the lagging dogs. The canines seemed to realize the loneliness of the situation, and occasionally stopped short, squatted down, and rent the air with dismal howlings.

"They don't see any food and shelter ahead, and I don't blame them,"

said Barwell Dawson.

By nightfall they calculated they had covered twelve miles. If that was true, only ten miles more separated them from their goal.

"And we'll make that tomorrow or bust!" cried Andy. He was dead-tired, and ached in every limb, but a strange light shone in his eyes--the same fire that lit up the eyes of Barwell Dawson.

In the morning the sky looked more forbidding than ever. But there was only a gentle breeze, and the thermometer registered forty-eight degrees,--several degrees warmer than it had been.

"We'll travel until noon," announced Barwell Dawson. "Then we'll make camp, and wait until we can take an observation."

They progressed almost in silence, the boys occasionally cracking the whip and urging the dogs. Barwell Dawson and Professor Jeffer were busy with their thoughts. Their fondest hopes seemed about to be realized.

The boys thought of home. Would they ever see Maine again?

"Seems like a lifetime since we left Pine Run!" remarked Chet once.

"Two lifetimes," responded Andy. "One such trip as this is enough for me."

The lads were footsore and weary to the last degree, but neither complained. They did not want to worry Barwell Dawson, and what would have been the use? He could not aid them. It was now a question of every one for himself.