grimy hands itched for a touch of that flying girlish figure.

Though she was a good quarter mile in the lead she was hampered by the
articles she carried. Certain young Chukches, too, were noted for their
speed. Could she make it? There was a full mile of level, sandy beach
and quite as level shore ice to be crossed before she could reach the
protection of the up-turned and tumbled ice farther out to sea.

On they came. Now their cries sounded more distinctly; they were
gaining. Now she heard the hoarse gasps of the foremost runner; now
imagining that she felt his hot breath on her cheek she redoubled her
energy. A grass slipper flew into the air. She ran on barefooted over
the stinging ice.

Now an ice pile loomed very near. With a final dash she gained its
shelter. With a whirl she darted from it to the next, then to the right,
straight ahead, again to the right, then to the left. But even then she
did not pause. She must lose herself completely in this labyrinth of
up-ended ice cakes.

Five minutes more of dodging found her far from the shouting mob, that
by this time was as hopelessly lost as dogs in a bramble patch.

The Jap girl smiled and shook her fist at the shore. She was safe.
Compared to this tangled wilderness of ice, the Catacombs of Rome were
an open street.

Throwing a fur garment on a cake of ice, she sat down upon it, at the
same time hastily drawing a parka over her perspiring shoulders. She
then proceeded to examine her collection of clothing. The examination