"
"Why, Mr. Gidge, I'm Cabot Grant, who----"
"Of course. To be sartin! Now I know ye!" interrupted the other.
"But where's White? What hev ye done with Whiteway Baldwin?"
"He's back there on the ice helpless with a crippled leg, freezing and
starving to death; but if you'll come at once I'll show you the way,
and we may still be in time to save him."
With instant comprehension of the necessity for prompt action, Mr.
Gidge, who, as Cabot afterwards learned, was first mate of the sealer
"Labrador," turned and shouted in stentorian tones to the men who were
working below:
"Knock off, all hands, and follow me. Form a line and keep hailing
distance apart, so's we'll find our way back after dark. There's white
men starving on the ice. One of ye go to the ship and report. Move
lively! Now, lad, I'm ready."
Two hours later Cabot and David Gidge, with, a long line of men
streaming out behind them, reached the little hut. There was no answer
to the cheery shouts with which they approached it, and, as they
crawled through its low entrance, they were filled with anxious
misgivings. What if they were too late after all? No spark of fire
lighted the gloom or took from the deadly chill of the interior, and no
voice bade them welcome. But, as David Gidge struck a match, a low
moaning sounded from one side, and told them that White was at least
alive.
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