"Yes, the caves of ice are being destroyed! Hark! You can hear them snapping!"
They all listened. Above the roar of the storm could be made out the noise of crushing, grinding ice—sounds like cannon being fired, as the great masses of frozen crystal snapped like frail planks.
"The ice caves are being destroyed by an upheaval of nature!" went on Mr. Parker. "This one will soon go! The walls are bulging now! We must get out!"
"But the natives! They will kill us!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul! what a trying position to be in."
"I guess the natives are as bad off as we are," suggested Ned. "They're not firing, and I can hear cries of alarm. I think they're running away."
There was a lull in the snow flurry, and the white curtain seemed to lift for a moment. The gold-seekers had a glimpse of the natives in full retreat, with the Fogers—father and son—racing panic-stricken after them. Tom could also see a big cave, just beyond the gold hole, collapse and crumble to pieces like a house of cards.
"We have no time to lose!" Mr. Parker warned them. "The roof of this cave is slowly coming down. The sides are collapsing! We must get out!"
