CHAPTER XXX.
THE COMING OF DAVID GIDGE.
White, who was still confined to the hut with his strained ankle, announced that they no longer had any oil upon Cabot's return at dusk from a day of fruitless hunting and outlook duty on the ice.
"That's bad," replied the latter, in a tone whose cheerfulness strove to conceal his anxiety.

"Now we'll have to burn the sled.

Lucky thing for us that it's of wood instead of being one of those bone affairs such as we saw at Locked Harbour." "Our provisions are nearly gone too," added White.

"In fact we've only enough for one more day." "Oh, well! A lot of things can happen in a day, and some of them may happen to us." But the only thing worthy of note that happened on the following day was a storm of such violence as to compel even stout-hearted Cabot to remain behind the sheltering walls of the hut, and, while it raged, our shivering lads, crouched above a tiny blaze of sled wood, ate their last morsel of food.

They still had a small quantity of tea, but that was all.