The dogs were hitched to the small sled and soon all were racing away before the wind to the spot chosen for the camp.  In a short time they were busy constructing a rude shelter, and the airplane for the moment was forgotten.

In the meantime, the wind was increasing, and the wings of the plane, catching first this swirl, then that one, began making great gyrating circles, cutting the air with a crack and a burr that might be heard rods away.  Though these sounds did not reach the men, busy with the snow-shack, they did reach listening ears—­a great white bear, wandering the floes in search of some sleeping seal, stood first on all fours, then on his haunches, to listen.  Then, with many a misgiving and many a pause, he made his cautious way to the edge of that particular ice-flat where the plane rested.  Thence, after more misgivings, he trundled his awkward body across the flat and took a position close to the plane, where, on his haunches, he stood and watched the apparently playful antics of the plane as if he thought it some great bird that had come to infest his domain.

Presently, when the plane nearest him seemed about to swoop down and touch the ice, he moved to a position beneath it, and, with tongue lolling, stood on his haunches again and swinging his giant paw to accompany the swing of the plane, struck out as it approached him.  To his surprise, the plane did not come within twenty feet of the ice surface.  He sank back on his haunches and awaited further developments.

When the snow-hut was completed, the first thought of the Major and the boys was of something to eat.

“Something hot!” exclaimed Barney, rattling away at the primus stove.  Then he sat up with a look of disgust on his face.

“The needles for the primus,” he groaned.  “They’re still over in the plane!”

“I’ll get them,” said Bruce, beginning to draw on his heavy parka.  Soon he was fighting the wind back to the position of the plane.  He had not battled with the elements long before he began to realize that all would not be well if the plane were left in its present position, unanchored as it was.  And when he caught the hum and whirr of the wind through the wings, he was more thoroughly convinced of the fact than ever.  As he came near and could see the long tilting toss of the wings, he realized that something must be done and at once.  For a second he hesitated; should he return and call his companions, or should he attempt to anchor the plane, temporarily at least, unaided?  He decided upon the latter course, and went at once to the body of the plane where were stored light, strong ropes of silk, and ice-anchors.  He did not see the bear sitting patiently on his haunches beneath the tip of the long wing.  Indeed, the snow-fog made it impossible, and it was equally impossible for the bear to see him.

Having secured four ropes and four ice-anchors, Bruce took two of the ropes and began climbing out on the right wing of the plane.  His plan was to attach the ropes to the extremity of the wing, cast them down to the surface where he would anchor them later in each direction away from the tip of the wing.  He would repeat the operation with the other wing, and, drawing the ropes down snugly, thus make the plane tight and steady.