be rediscovered before steps to develop it could be taken. For, in struggling through to the outside, Farrell had suffered the loss of his compass, had been turned about in Winter fogs, had lain delirious for a long period in the igloo of friendly Eskimos within the Arctic Circle and, in general, had suffered so many hardships that his mind was clouded and he had no clear idea of where lay this oil field.

“Anderson, however, placed such faith in Farrell’s report that he decided to outfit an expedition to retrace the footsteps of Farrell and Cameron into the Arctic in the hope of thus once more coming upon the oil field. Inasmuch as they had gone in through Alaska, that was the way which Thorwaldsson’s expedition took.”

Mr. Hampton paused. Jack, who had been eyeing his father closely, now put a hand on his arm.

“And now what, Dad?” he asked.

“Now Anderson wants me to attempt to go after the ‘Lost Expedition’ and try to relocate the oil fields as well as find some trace of Thorwaldsson,” said Mr. Hampton.

“I thought so,” said Jack, in a tone of satisfaction. “When do we start?”

“We?” Mr. Hampton chuckled. “I like that. Just as cool as you please about it, too. We? Well, well.”

“Do we leave at once?” asked Jack, imperturbably, not one whit disturbed by his father’s pleasantry.

Mr. Hampton shook his head.

“Whether I take you at all is questionable,” he said. “Certainly, I have no intention of going at once. If I go at all, it will not be until the Arctic Summer begins.”

“Meantime, I suppose, I’m to return to Yale.”

“Yes, you’ve missed a half year, thanks to our adventures in search of the Incas’ treasure in South America, but that is no reason why you should miss the balance of the term. I’ll tell you what,” he added, taking pity on the three, “if you fellows go back to college and study hard to make up for lost time until Summer, and if the ‘Lost Expedition’ is still lost at that time, why, I’ll see what can be done.”

“Hurray,” cried Jack. “That’s a promise.”

CHAPTER II.—SETTING OUT FROM NOME.

“Well, boys, where do we go from here?”

It was Frank who asked the question, and he sat on a heap of luggage on the beach at Nome, with Jack and Bob beside him looking alternately at the mountain beyond the Alaskan outpost and at Mr. Hampton deep in conversation with a short sturdy figure of a man, clad in khaki breeches, high leather boots and a flannel shirt, a short distance away. The figure was that of Tom Farnum, scout of the independent oil interests at Nome.

It was Summer, and Summer in Alaska as the boys were beginning to realize meant hot weather, indeed. All had their coats off, and were perspiring. Only an hour before they had been put ashore by the steamer from Seattle, and Mr. Hampton had left them on the beach with their luggage while he went in search of Tom Farnum, who had failed to meet them at the landing as they had expected.

“Where do we go from here?” Jack repeated Frank’s question. “Well, if you ask me, almost any place would be better than Nome.”

He looked with disfavor at the little town sprawling at the base of the mountain.

“Not just what I expected,” he said. “I’ve heard of Nome all my life, it seems, and now, just look at it. Why, it’s hardly a spot on the map.”

“But what a history it has had, Jack,” said Frank. “Don’t judge by appearances too much. Remember this town has seen the Gold Rush.”

“I wonder what Dad is talking about,” said Jack, ignoring Frank’s remark.

“Probably discussing how soon we can get away,” said big Bob, speaking for the first time. “At any rate,” he added, “I see your father and his companion pointing to that gasoline schooner off shore.”

At this moment, their doubts were resolved, for Mr. Hampton and his companion ended their conversation and approached the boys.

“Well, boys, we’ll soon be under way,” said Mr. Hampton. Whereupon he introduced Farnum all around. The latter was a prepossessing man with a weather-beaten face and a grizzled mustache, above which jutted a promontory of a nose between deep-set, wide, blue eyes.

“That is our schooner out there,” Mr. Hampton continued, indicating the boat to which Bob earlier had drawn attention. “Mr. Farnum,” he added, “has stated casually around Nome that he is taking a party of hunters up the MacKenzie. We’ll get away at once, as nothing is to be gained by a stay in Nome and as, furthermore, we wish to avoid inquiries into our aims. The story Farnum has told will do well enough.”

Farnum nodded.

“Just a white lie,” he said, grinning. “No use letting the curious know all your secrets.”

Then followed an hour of brisk work, at the end of which period the luggage was safely stowed aboard the gasoline schooner, and its screw began to turn. As the little vessel began to throb and draw away from Nome, the boys leaned overside and watched the prospect dwindle in the distance until the houses seemed like toys and the mountainside like a painted backdrop in the theater.

“Hurray,” cried Bob, at last, “we’re off for the Great Unknown.”

“Yes,” agreed Frank, “I really feel that way, too. All the way up from Seattle, I felt as if I were nothing more than a tourist, traveling a beaten route. But this, well, this is different.”

After that they were silent a long time, while the schooner shook and throbbed and steadily pushed its way up the coast, each boy busy with his thoughts. Yet those thoughts were much the same.

Following that eventful discussion in Seattle, on their return from South America and their adventures there in The Enchanted City of the Incas, they had gone back to Yale and studied hard to make up for lost time in the first half of the term. All three were clever and had the knack of concentrating at their tasks, and all as a consequence had succeeded in making up back work in classroom and lecture. As a result they had entered the succeeding term, or at least were prepared to do so, without conditions. This was a matter for congratulation, indeed, and deserving of especial reward.

That reward had been theirs. For Mr. Hampton and Mr. Temple both decided that their respective sons and Frank, Mr. Temple’s ward, should be permitted to accompany Mr. Hampton on his trip to attempt to find some trace of the “Lost Expedition” and of the reputed oil field in search of which Thorwaldsson had set out.

“Farnum is reputed a wizard in knowledge of the Northland,” Mr. Hampton had explained to Mr. Temple, “and, as a consequence, I do not consider that we will run any danger. Our greatest danger, of course, would be to become trapped in the Far North in the Fall and be prevented by the rigors of Winter from regaining the outside. For I do not intend to spend the Winter there. Instead, I hope to be back in civilization by the early Fall.

“That,” he added, “will give us plenty of opportunity to seek traces of the ‘Lost Expedition.’ I have been in communication with Farnum. His plan is for us to push up the MacKenzie to one of its tributaries, and then strike eastward. We will leave the gasoline schooner to make its way back to Nome, while we push on overland, lightening our journey on rivers and lakes, in the hope of finding the River of Oil flowing north.

“If we are unsuccessful, when the seasonal warnings of approaching Winter come, we will turn to the southeast and come out in northern Canada.

“The boys are hard and fit, and such a trip