On the fourth of July there was such an exceedingly dense fog, that it was very difficult to keep the straight course for the north. No misadventure, however, befel the party during the darkness, except the loss of Bell’s snow-shoes. At Bell’s suggestion, which fired the Doctor’s inventive genius, torches were contrived, made of tow steeped in spirits-of-wine and fastened on the end of a stick, and these served somewhat to help them on, though they made but small progress; for, on the sixth, after the fog had cleared off, the Doctor took their bearings, and found that they had only been marching at the rate of eight miles a day.

Determined to make up for lost time, they rose next morning very early and started off, Bell and Altamont as usual going ahead of the rest and acting as scouts. Johnson and the others kept beside the sledge, and were soon nearly two miles behind the guides; but the weather was so dry and clear that all their movements could be distinctly observed.

“What now? “ said Clawbonny, as he saw them make a sudden halt, and stoop down as if examining the ground.

“I was just wondering what they are about, myself,” replied old Johnson.

“Perhaps they have come on the tracks of animals,” suggested Hatteras.

“No,” said Clawbonny, “it can’t be that.”

“Why not?”

“Because Duk would bark.”

“Well, it is quite evident they are examining some sort of marks.”

“Let’s get on, then,” said Hatteras; and, urging forward the dogs, they rejoined their companions in about twenty minutes, and shared their surprise at finding unmistakable fresh footprints of human beings in the snow, as plain as if only made the preceding day.

“They are Esquimaux footprints,” said Hatteras.

“Do you think so?” asked Altamont.

“There is no doubt of it.”

“But what do you make of this, then?” returned Altamont, pointing to another footmark repeated in several places. “Do you believe for a minute that was made by an Esquimaux?”

It was incontestably the print of a European boot — nails, sole, and heel clearly stamped in the snow. There was no room for doubt, and Hatteras exclaimed in amazement —

“Europeans here!”

“Evidently,” said Johnson.

“And yet it is so improbable that we must take a second look before pronouncing an opinion,” said Clawbonny.

But the longer he looked, the more apparent became the fact. Hatteras was chagrined beyond measure. A European here, so near the Pole!

The footprints extended for about a quarter of a mile, and then diverged to the west. Should the travellers follow them further?

“No,” said Hatteras, “let us go on.”

He was interrupted by an exclamation from the Doctor, who had just picked up an object that gave still more convincing proof of European origin. It was part of a pocket spy-glass!

“Well, if we still had any doubts about the footmarks, this settles the case at once, at any rate,” said Clawbonny.

“Forward!” exclaimed Hatteras so energetically, that instinctively each one obeyed, and the march was resumed forthwith.

The day wore away, but no further sign of the presence of suspected rivals was discovered, and they prepared to encamp for the night.

The tent was pitched in a ravine for shelter, as the sky was dark and threatening, and a violent north wind was blowing.

“I’m afraid we’ll have a bad night,” said Johnson.

“ A pretty noisy one, I expect,” replied the Doctor, “but not cold. We had better take every precaution, and fasten down our tent with good big stones.”

“You are right, Mr. Clawbonny. If............