"Some fight!" reechoed the Major. "And the next thing is to put the
injured out of their misery. After that we must skin 'em and make a cache
for the meat."

"Meat?" the boys questioned.

"Sure," smiled the Major. "Wolf meat isn't bad at all. You perhaps forget
that we have not a hundred miles of gas in the tank. We may be here quite
some time!"




CHAPTER IV

A MODERN BATTLE WITH CRIMINALS


When Dave Tower, Barney Menter's one-time pal, received the letter
suggesting a bit of "jazz" somewhere within the Arctic Circle, he was on
twelve-hour shore leave. They were to start on that mysterious subsea
journey at high-tide next day. He grinned as he showed the note to Ensign
Blake, his commander. Then he went around the corner and purchased a
second-hand guitar and an oboe.

"Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to a pair of battered kettledrums in the
corner. "There's the original pair--made by the Adam and Eve of the South
Sea Islands, or wherever kettledrums originated. I'll buy 'em and teach
some gob to drum. We'll have a whole band when we arrive."