Johnny’s eyes once more swept the broad expanse of drifting ice.  Then his gaze became riveted on one spot.  The band of black water had narrowed to a ribbon.  This meant an onshore wind.  Soon they would be able to cross from the solid shore ice to the drifting floe.  Surely there could be no better time to cross the Strait.  With the air clear and wind light, the crossing might be made in safety.

Even as he looked, Johnny saw a man leap the gap.  Curiosity caused him to watch this man, whom he had taken for a Chukche hunter.  Now he appeared, now disappeared, only to reappear again round an ice pile.  But he behaved strangely for a hunter.  Turning neither to right nor left, except to dodge ice piles, he forged straight ahead, as if guided by a compass.  Soon it became apparent that he was starting on the trip across the Strait.  Chukches did not attempt this journey.  They had not sufficient incentive.  Could it be the Russian?  Johnny decided he must hurry down and tell Hanada.  But, even as he rose, he saw a second person leap across the gap in the ice.  This one at once started to trail the first man.  There could be no mistaking that youthful springing step.  It was Hanada in pursuit.

With cold perspiration springing out on his forehead, Johnny sat weakly down.  He was being left behind, left behind by his friend, his classmate, the man who above all men he had thought could be depended upon.  How could he interpret this?

For a time Johnny sat in gloomy silence, trying to form an answer to the problem; trying also to map out a program of his own.

Suddenly he sprang to his feet.  He had remembered that there was some sort of party down in the village, which he had been invited not to attend, and he had meant to go.  Perhaps it was not too late if he hurried.  He raced down the hill and straight to the igloo he had been warned against entering.  A strapping young buck was standing guard at the flaps.

“No go,” he said as Johnny approached.

“Go,” answered Johnny.

“No go,” said the native, his voice rising.

“Go,” retorted Johnny quietly.

He moved to pass the native.  The latter put his hand out, and the next instant felt himself whirled about and shot spinning down the short steep slope which led from the igloo entrance.  Johnny’s good right arm had done that.

As the American lad pushed back the flaps of the igloo and entered he stared for one brief second.  Then he let out a howl and lunged forward.  Before him, in the center of the igloo stood the old man who had been so peacefully smoking his pipe two hours before.  He was now standing on a box which raised him some three feet from the floor.  About his neck was a skin rope.  The rope, a strong one, was fastened securely to the cross poles of the igloo.  A younger man had been about to kick the box away.

This same younger man suddenly felt the jar of something hard.  It struck his chin.  After that he felt nothing.