"One hundred and thirty miles more, Andy!" "Who said so?" "Professor Jeffer. He just took an observation," answered Chet, as he crawled into the _igloo_ and slapped his mittened hands to get them warm. Andy shook his head slowly. "Chet, it doesn't look as if we'd make it, does it?" "Barwell Dawson says we are going to make it, or die in the attempt." "Well, I'm just as eager, almost, as he is. But eagerness isn't going to make these leads close up, and isn't going to give us extra food and drink." "Getting sick of pemmican and walrus meat?" "Aren't you?" "Rather--but there is no use in kicking." "Say, do you know what day this is?" "No." "The first of April. Maybe some folks would call us April fools, to try to reach the Pole." Here the two boys became silent, for both were too tired and too cold to do much talking. The last few weeks of traveling had been very bad,--so bad in fact that half of the Esquimaux had been turned back, to make a camp and wait the return of the others. Mr. Camdal had been taken sick, and he had been left behind, and now Dr. Slade was ailing, and so were two of the natives. Sixteen of the dogs had perished, and their bodies had been fed to the other canines. The hardships had been beyond the power of pen to describe. They had encountered numerous snowstorms, and a cutting west wind had for three days made traveling impossible. The smooth ice had given way to little hills and ridges that battered the sledges frightfully. One more had gone to pieces, and the parts had been used for mending purposes, as before. The effects of the hardships were beginning to tell on everybody. The boys were thin and hollow-eyed, and when they walked, or, rather, toiled along, their legs felt like lead. To get up any speed was impossible, and if in ten hours' walking they managed to cover fifteen or twenty miles they thought they were doing well. The glare on the ice and snow also affected them, so that their eyes appeared like little slits. Professor Jeffer had been in danger of having his nose frost-bitten, but the boys had noticed it just in time, and come to the old scientist's rescue by rubbing the member with soft snow, thus putting the blood again in circulation. "Well, lads, how do you feel?" asked Barwell Dawson, as he entered the _igloo_, followed by Professor Jeffer. "Dead tired, I suppose." "Tired doesn't fit it," answered Chet, with a sickly grin. "I am next-door to being utterly played out." "Perhaps I had better leave you two boys behind, while Professor Jeffer and myself, with one sledge, make the final dash." "No; now I've come so far I'm going to stick it out," answered Chet, grittily. "And so am I," added Andy. "I guess we'll feel better after a good sleep," he went on, hopefully. A few minutes later all sank into a profound slumber, from which they did not awaken until well in the morning. Then the barking of the dogs and the shouting of one of the Esquimaux made them leap up and crawl outside.