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An effort was made to run back, but it failed in consequence of an enormous floe's turning on its centre, having met resistance from a field closer in, that was, in its turn, stopped by the rocks. Roswell saw at once that nothing could be done at the moment.
The floe's lip was split and cracked in every direction for three or four miles inland, and great pans of ten-foot-thick ice, from a few yards to twenty acres square, were jolting and ducking and surging into one another, and into the yet unbroken floe, as the heavy swell took and shook and spouted between them.
Johnny saw the Russian leap from ice cake to ice cake until at last he disappeared behind a giant pile, safe on a broad field of solid ice. Hanada sat down. His face was white. "Gone!" he muttered hoarsely. "A boat?" suggested Johnny. "No good. The ice floe's two miles wide, forty miles long and all piled up. Couldn't find him. He'd never give himself up. But he'll come back." "How?"
Then a jar the landing-wheels had touched. They touched again. The moving plane fairly ate up the scant level space, yet she slowed and slowed until at last, with hardly a tremor, she rested against the outcropping ridge of ice at the floe's edge. With a glowing smile the Major unstrapped himself to reach out his hands in thanks and congratulation to his pilots. But where were they?
He was alone; Todd had gone down to the kitchen only he and the four companions so dear to his heart. "Come here, you imp of the devil," he continued, rubbing Floe's ears he loved her best pinching her nose until her teeth showed; patting her flanks, crooning over her as a woman would over a child, talking to himself all the time. "I wonder if Floyd will be good to them!
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