"Let somebody come with me.

He's up to mischief! He must not get away!" "Mischief!" exclaimed Mr.Gibbs.

"I don't see what mischief he can do.
He can't live out here without shelter; he'll be dead before morning." "Not he," cried Sammy.

"He's a born devil, with a dozen lives! Take a gun with you, Mr.Marcy, and shoot him if you can't catch him!" Mr.Marcy took no gun; he had no time to stop for that.

In a few moments he was on the ice with his sledge, then away he went at full speed towards the distant moving black object.
Two men were soon following Mr.Marcy, but they were a long way behind him, for their sledges did not carry them at the speed with which he was flying over the ice and snow.
It was not long before Rovinski discovered that he was pursued, and, frequently turning his head backward, he saw that the foremost sledge was gaining upon him; but, crouching as low as he could to avoid a rifle-shot, he kept on his way.
But he could not help turning his head every now and then, and at one of these moments his sledge struck a projecting piece of ice and was suddenly overturned.