"This is where we are." He indicated a spot bare of all place names and west of the area in which Chetzisky was reported. In case of an air search this would be the last bit of terrain searched. It was far off our expected course. I recalled the story of the transport lost these ten years in this wilderness and unpleasant tingling crept up my spine. Then I remembered Chetzisky and realized with a sour humor that worrying about time in terms of years was optimistic. Time now was only a matter of three days. And moping like this wouldn't add to them. "Check the radio," I snapped, turning to the pilot; "see if you can raise Burns Lake." He climbed back into the plane. The lights went on; at least, they still worked. I turned to Johnny Eagle, "You better get the sleeping bags out and turn in yourself. There's nothing to be done till morning." I got in the plane. "Any chance of fixing it?" I asked, watching the pilot's frantic flickering of switches. "I'm trying to. It may only be a case of a broken tube from the jolt we had. If so, we're all right; I have a few spares." I stayed up all night with him. A damp, pallid dawn filtered through a ceiling of clouds, their gray bellies heavy against the tops of the evergreen timber. The day passed fretfully under the heavy overcast. Johnny Eagle had patched the opening in the tail and we spent the hours inside, sheltered from the drizzling cold. The pilot gave up his despairing tinkering with the radio and fell into an exhausted sleep. I followed suit. A loud, shrill squealing brought me to my feet hours later. The radio was working again. The pilot was shouting excitedly to me. "I've got 'em. Listen." "_CXRAP. We hear you. Come in._" The pilot flipped the transmitter switch. "CXRAP calling Burns Lake. We are down in area located...." He went on, giving co-ordinates of our position, visibility, weather, and other data. "Here, sir," he said, handing me the mike. "Someone wishes to speak to you." I almost dropped the mike at the sound of the voice that boomed over the radio loudspeaker. It was Armstrong's. Public opinion roused by Nevil Oxford's censored broadcast had forced the government's hand and Armstrong had been placed in command of a last minute effort to locate Chetzisky. Only two days separated the earth from annihilation. "We can't get to you in this weather, Arnold. Sit tight and pray." "Don't bother about us, Jim," I told Armstrong. "We're well enough set; don't waste time." I knew he wouldn't. Afterwards I learned that he parachuted troops into the suspected area north of Burns Lake and rounded up every trapper, prospector, Indian guide and Provincial trooper to scour the region for Chetzisky. * * * * * Late in the afternoon the low-lying clouds began to lift. Rifts appeared in the solid grayness but the drizzle kept on. I put on my raincoat and got out of the plane to stretch my legs.