He drew a revolver from one of the compartments, and leaning over, fired repeatedly at the slender mark. But the end below was touching now, and this made it unsteady. He gave up at last, his hands numb with cold. “Either I am a poor shot, or the bullets won’t cut it,” he said. “There is no help for it,” I thought. “I must make the attempt and die.” “No,” said Ferratoni, “I will go over. You can put a rope around me.” But at this point Mr. Sturritt ventured to interfere. “As a boy,” he said, “I was something of a circus—that is—I was somewhat given to gymnastics, and I think I might properly undertake this matter.” “Bill,” said Gale, fervently, “you’re laying up treasures.” He was the lightest of the party. We put a small rope securely about him, and made loops to hold to from above. The elderly man laid off his outer furs, and in the icy air stepped nimbly to the edge. Then, knife in hand, he cautiously descended. He first tried holding to the side of the boat with one hand and reaching for the rope with the other. But this would not work, so, at his bidding, we lowered him a few feet further. He gave himself a push outward as he descended. As he swung back under the boat he seized the rope below, and with a few deft cuts, severed it. There was a sudden upward flight that prevented our hauling in immediately. Then we pulled straight up, and Mr. Sturritt’s hands, and presently his head, appeared over the side. He tumbled in among us and we covered him with furs. We offered him brandy, for he was stiff and blue. “N—no,” he shivered, “in c—compartment four you will find a brown lozenge especially adapted to such occas—that is—to emergencies of this sort.” I hastily procured the tablets, and he swallowed two of them. “Take a little whisky to wash ’em down, Bill.” But Mr. Sturritt shook his head, and presently seemed to grow quite warm among the furs. Then, closing his eyes, he slept. Gale regarded him fondly. “Bully old Bill!” he said. “I never knew him to be afraid in my life, or to fail when it came to the pinch!” XXIII. THE CLOUDCREST MAKES A LANDING.