"I wonder," he said, "when this thing's going to take off."
A snore answered him.
For hours, it seemed, the racket kept him awake despite his fatigue. Then he slept, woke, and slept again. He woke again to find Okagamut preparing a meal. The wind still shrieked and shook the tent.
"How long does a blow like this keep up?" asked Singer.
"A ten-night, maybe."
"Don't poke borax at me!"
"No, I mean it."
"Won't that give the Johns a chance to catch us?" Okagamut shook his head. "They can't travel in it either."
They dozed the day away, except to crawl out into the drift to feed the fsyokn. The next night was the same; then the wind dropped.
Okagamut crept out through the sleeve and whistled. The fsyokn, looking unhappy with their fur full of icicles, howled a greeting. Singer came out too. The cloud-curtain was rolling back. The wind had in some places scoured off the snow, leaving glare ice, while in others it had packed the snow into wave-like ridges. "Sastrugi," said Okagamut. "Hard going."
"Look!" cried Singer, pointing.
Far down the slope they saw two brown oblongs against the white tents. There were many fsyokn pegged out, though at the distance they couldn't count them.
"Let's go," said Okagamut.
"How do you know they're after us? Might be a skiing party."
"I'm not taking a chance."
Although they worked fast, the cold numbed their fingers and the unfamiliar gear resisted their efforts to pack it back into the sled. A couple of specks had detached themselves from the other encampment and moved closer, growing to men. A faint hail came up the glacier: "You there! Stay where you are!"
"It's them," said Singer, collapsing the tent.
Something whistled and struck the ice with a sharp sound.
"They've got a crossbow," said Okagamut. "Why not fort up and shoot back with your little bow?"
"Nuts. They'd have us hopelessly out-ranged. Once we get going they'll never catch us. Here, catch this line and tie it to your belt."
Another missile whistled overhead. Okagamut cracked his whip, and off they went. The sastrugi made their sled pitch like a tugboat in a gale. Singer fell over the ridges and picked himself up until he was sure he was black and blue all over. He looked back and said:
"Those blokes with the bow have stopped, anyhow. The others seem to be breaking camp."
They struggled on. The party behind drew closer, until through his goggles Singer made out two nine-fsyok teams, each pulling a heavily-loaded sled, and five men. Sometimes the two Earthmen hit a patch of smooth, hard snow and drew ahead; then they'd meet a steep slope or a stretch of sastrugi or a crevassed area and the pursuers would gain.
"Hi!" said Singer. "They've stopped and are running about like a pack of flopping ants!"
Okagamut paused for a look. "Ha! One of their sleds has fallen down a crevasse, and they're trying to haul it out."
"There wasn't no crevasse there when we went over it—or was there?"
"Sure; we've been crossing snow-bridges all morning. With this warmer weather they're melting thin, and they're apt to drop out from under you. That's why we wear skis and go roped together. I suppose we'd weakened one, so that when their heavier teams crossed, it went."
"Ugh," said Singer with a shiver that was not entirely due to the cold.
The pursuers receded to a stippling on the landscape, and then were hidden by the contour of the glacier. The Earthmen slogged away until the low sun slanted towards the horizon again. Singer asked: "How d'you know your way?"
"Sun partly; I hope we don't have another overcast until we reach the plateau. Once we're there, there are mountains we can sight on."
They camped that evening when exhausted, and spent the night taking turns sleeping and watching. Next morning the snow turned slushy and stuck to skis and sled-runners. They had to push the sled, grunting. Singer once thought he saw moving specks on the horizon. The next day was much the same, though the slope became easier. Then another blizzard pinned them for a night, a day, and another night.
Singer stuck his head out the following morning and said: "Looks like clearing." He dressed, remarking: "At this rate I shan't have any potbelly left when we get to Olñega. Look at these trousers!"
His pants were indeed inches too large around the waist. He looked at himself in his little hand-mirror: his thin hair and abundant beard, once auburn but now' greying, were sprouting fast. Okagamut's hair was coming out glossy black, and the man seemed to have no beard to speak of.
"See what they're yelling about, will you, Dinky?'' said Okagamut, pottering with the stove. The animals' morning howls had risen to a hysterical pitch.
Singer crawled out to look. He stopped and drew in his breath.
Crawling over the snow came a snaky creature fifteen or twenty metres long, belonging to the six-legged division of Krishnan land vertebrates. Each leg ended in a large webbed foot with long curved talons. Its reptilian appearance was confused by the fact that it was covered with dense white fur.
Singer yelled: "Earl!" snatched his ski-spear from where it stuck upright in the snow, and ran towards the pudamef, which was nearing the sledge-beasts.
The snow-dragon arched its neck and hissed.
Singer threw the spear. It missed and sailed over the creature's back.
He tugged at his sword-hilt. The sword stuck fast. Singer remembered that the scabbard didn't fit. Another tug, harder, did no good.
The snaky white head shot out. Singer leaped back, tripped over a sastruga, and fell, hitting his head on a patch of bare ice. Stars danced in front of his eyes.
The jaws gaped nearer.
A yell, and Okagamut leaped past and lunged with the other spear. Singer saw blood on the white-furred muzzle. Another thrust, into the gaping maw. More blood, and then the creature was backing, hissing like a boiler safety-valve. It turned and crawled off with a clockworky motion. Okagamut chased it with shouts and menaces until it disappeared among the pressure-ridges.
"Are you all right, Dinky?" said Okagamut.
Singer felt the back of his head and winced. "Outside of a cracked skull or two I'm fine. Threw my spear and missed—"
"I'll get your spear ..." Okagamut walked towards where the ski-spear stood with its head buried in the snow.
Then, quick as a flash, he vanished.
"Hey, Earl!" cried Singer, getting up. "Don't do that! I say, where the flopping hell are you?"
He started towards the site of the disappearance, then, remembering Okagamut's cautions about crevasses, went back to the tent, put on his skis, and set out again.
He found a hole in the snow going down to darkness, just big enough for Okagamut's body. He began enlarging the hole with his hands, calling: "Earl!"
"Pass down a knife!" came a voice from the depths.
Singer went back and got the climbing-rope, tied his knife to the end, and lowered it down the hole. After he had dangled it at various depths, the call came up: "Can't get hold of it. My arms are pinned."
Singer hauled back the knife and stood up, nonplussed. As his eyes swept the horizon they stopped at a group of black specks. He peered for several seconds. No doubt this time.
He fought down the urge to hitch up the team, which he could now drive after a fashion, and race off by himself. Why should he get caught ...?
He shook his head to clear away such thoughts and shouted down: "What'll I do now, come down and get you?"
The faint voice came back: "Can you climb a rope?"