Others
towered in massive majesty and grandeur high above the sea, miniature
mountains of ice. Some were of solid white, but the greater part of them
reflected marvelous blues and greens and were a riot of beautiful color.
One of the smaller icebergs lying a half mile or so from Itigailit
Island attracted Bobby's attention as he and Jimmy walked back from the
cairn.
"See that berg, Jimmy?" he asked.
"The little one close in?"
"Yes. Do you know, I've got an idea. That bear meat won't keep long
unless we pack it in ice or salt it, and I'd rather have it fresh than
salted, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would!" said Jimmy.
"Then let's take your skiff--it's bigger than ours--and go for a load of
ice."
"It's dangerous to go digging on icebergs. They're like to turn over,"
suggested Jimmy.
"Oh, don't be afraid, now. Come on. There isn't any danger," said Bobby,
with impelling enthusiasm. "We can get enough ice to keep the meat fresh
until it's all used up. Come on."
And Jimmy, as was his custom when Bobby urged, agreed. Skipper Ed's
skiff lay at the landing, and arming themselves with an ax the two
pulled away unobserved.
It was a small iceberg, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and rising not
more than twenty feet above the water. Its surface was irregular, and
there were several places where excellent footing could be had. The boat
was directed toward one of these.
"You stay in the boat," said Bobby, seizing the ax, "and I'll go aboard
her and cut the ice.
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