But Jack Frost had vanished utterly, and there was Billy deserted on a great Arctic snowfield, just at the most exciting moment of the chase. THE END OF THE CHASE CHAPTER XI THE END OF THE CHASE It must be admitted that there were tears in the little boy’s eyes, tears that overflowed and made damp, messy places on his wide shirt-collar before they could be ordered back where they belonged. They were tears of disappointment rather than fear, although certain thoughts of bears and walruses and even great sharp-billed Arctic owls insisted on following one another very rapidly through his mind. But when five minutes passed and no bears nor other terrifying creatures appeared Billy began to take heart. “They’re sure to miss me,” he said aloud, for it was comforting to hear a sound, even if it were only that of his own voice. “And when they do miss me they’ll find me. They are fairies, and they can find anything.” “Anything but the Evening Star,” said a deep voice beside him. “They haven’t found her yet, remember.” Billy jumped almost out of his shoes, he was so startled, but he looked bravely in the direction of the voice just the same, and to his amazement he saw the Equine Ox standing knee deep in snow and switching his tail vigorously as he had learned to switch it in the tropics where the flies are bad. It made Billy laugh to see him do it in the Arctic Circle. But the Equine Ox said it was a warming process. “I repeat,” said the Equine Ox, “that they haven’t found the Evening Star. That is chiefly because they refused to ask me to help them.” “But,” said Billy, “you are supposed to be back there with the conductor and the motorman.” “They were not interesting,” said the Equine Ox. “No doubt they are very worthy people, but they are not interesting. They talked about pie and cheese sandwiches and fried beefsteak and other things I do not care for, so I came up here. I knew I would have to, anyway, before they found the Evening Star.” “How in the world did you get here?” asked Billy. “I didn’t,” said the Equine Ox. “But you’re here, so you must have got here,” insisted Billy. “You asked,” said the Equine Ox placidly, “how in the world I got here. I didn’t get here in the world. I got here out of the world. I came by way of the Big Dipper.” “Oh!” said Billy; “I suppose I see. Anyway, it would not be polite to keep on asking you questions, even if I don’t understand.” “An Equine Ox,” said the other, “can go anywhere he pleases, on the world or off of it. I hadn’t seen the Big Dipper for some time, so I went up there, took a drink and came down here. I know of nothing easier to do than that, do you?” Billy knew of a great many things that would have been easier for him to do; so many, in fact, that it would be too great a task to enumerate them, so he kept silent. “I do hope you can help them find the Evening Star,” he said at length. “Certainly I can,” said the Equine Ox. “There she is now.” “Where?” cried Billy.