Then, watching his opportunity, little by little and with much tugging
and effort, he drew the skiff to a safe position beyond the waves, and
as he did so he discovered that the water which it held ran freely out
of it, and that one of its planks had been smashed, and in the bottom of
the skiff was a great hole.
And there he was, wet to the skin, stranded upon a wind-swept, treeless
island, with a useless skiff and with never a tool--not even an ax--with
which to make repairs. And there he was, too, without shelter, and the
first terrible blizzard of a Labrador winter rising, in its fury and
awful cold, about him. And whether or not there was any wood about that
could be gathered with bare hands he did not know. But more important
than wood was cover from the storm, for without protection from the
blizzard Bobby was well aware he could never survive the night.
CHAPTER XVI
A SNUG REFUGE
The weather had suddenly become intensely cold, and Bobby's wet
clothing was already stiff with ice. The northeast wind, laden with
Arctic frost, swept the island with withering blasts, and cut to the
bone.
The wind was rising, too, and there was no doubt that with darkness it
would attain the velocity of a gale, and the storm the proportions of a
sub-Arctic blizzard. Snow was already falling heavily, and presently it
would be driving and swirling in dense, suffocating clouds. Winter had
fallen like a thunderbolt from heaven.
But Bobby never permitted himself to worry needlessly.
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