Lost On Umbagog
Author: Allen, Willis Boyd
Date: 2015-11-09T06:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Action & Adventure
Description: Ebook prepared by crutledge@knology.net
Rights: Public Domain

TABLE of CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

LIST of ILLUSTRATIONS

- THE SHADOWY DEPTHS OP THE FOREST.

- LOST IN THE ICE AND SNOW.

CHAPTER I.

NOW, look here, Ned, if you don’t believe in this expedition, you can just stay at home and read Virgil.”

“You know very well that I’m up to that sort o’ thing as much as any of you fellows,” replied Ned, with dignity. “Only it’s all nonsense to rush off to the woods in the dead of winter, without looking the dangers in the face.”

Ned was always the conservative force in our Parliament, and we were pretty well used to his grumblings and croakings. So we just put a clothes-basket over his head and sat down on him a while, until, after a tremendous scramble all round, he emerged, red and breathless from kicking and laughing, and, as was usual on such treatment, agreed with the majority—said majority consisting of Dick May, Rodney Bigelow and myself. Ned and I were brothers.

“There,” panted Rod, who was chairman pro tern., “the member on the right having withdrawn his objection, we will proceed to put the question, which is this: Shall we four, known among ourselves and a select circle of acquaintances as ‘The Vagabonds,’ spend the first week of January next in the Rangeley woods, camping out, without a guide? All those opposed say ‘No.’”

(Silence, with threatening glances at Ned.)

“Those in favor, holler!”

“Ki-yi! Hooray! Yahoo! Hey—Whoop!” “There is no doubt as to the sentiment of the meeting,” remarked the chairman, wiping his brow. “It is a vote. Now for an informal discussion of details.”

The result of the conference was, that on the afternoon of the second day of January a group of four boys, averaging sixteen years of age, were gathered on the platform of the little station at Bethel, Maine, earnestly and vocally superintending the removal of half a dozen good-sized boxes and bundles from the baggage-car. The boys wore fur caps, mittens, and thick, short overcoats, or “pearjackets,” and danced up and down on the snowy planks, partly to keep their feet warm, and partly because they were so full of “good time” that they couldn’t keep still.

In five minutes more the train had puffed away toward Montreal, and the merry “Vagabonds” were seated in a rude box sleigh, bound for Upton.

We had changed our plans slightly, I ought to say, and decided to camp near Lake Umba-gog, rather than go further on to the real Rangeley district. One of the principal reasons for our doing this was the abundance of pickerel in Umbagog. We knew that as long as we were on the shores of the lake we were sure of plenty to eat, although we depended largely on our stock of home stores for the commissary department.

Now, boys, don’t turn up your noses when I tell you that, unlike most fellows in books, we didn’t care to shoot any game. The way it came about was this: The year before we had visited the Rangeleys with two or three older relatives, and had “floated” for deer with immense enthusiasm. Rod got a shot at a fine buck, and missed him. The very next night it was as dark as pitch. We had been fidgeting all day for the sun to set, and at nine o’clock off we started. In twenty minutes the guide in my boat stopped paddling, and gave that peculiar little jerk to the gunwale of the boat that sends the blood tingling to your finger-tips, for it means “deer.”

I turned the jack slowly on to the banks of the Narrows, where we were paddling, and sure enough, there was a doe not half a dozen rods away, ankle deep in the water.

She raised her head and looked full at the light, blinking slightly. Of course she hadn’t a glimpse of the boat or of us, being dazzled with the reflection of the jack. Then she actually took two steps forward. They were her last.

Nervously taking aim I fired, and when the smoke cleared away we saw the bushes waving, where the poor thing was struggling in her agony.

The guide drew his knife and put the boat into the reeds. In another moment we were beside the doe. She stopped struggling, and, lying on her side as she was, raised her head and looked me full in the face with her great, meek brown eyes.

“Git out!” shouted the guide to me, raising his knife blade; “I’ll have her in a minute.”

There, it always makes me feel badly to tell that story. The fellows got it all out of me when we reached the camp .with the body of the doe. They looked pretty sober about it, and in a private meeting not long after the “Vagabonds” voted unanimously not to kill any more deer or other harmless game, except under the most stringent necessity. Now laugh, if you want to; but I shall never forget that doe’s brown eyes to my dying day.

We took a rifle, just the same, to fire at a mark, or use, as I said, in case of extreme need.

In the boxes were corned beef, tongue, ham, pilot bread, tea, coffee, condensed milk, Indian meal, and a lot of small packages of salt, sugar, and the like. Potatoes and butter we bought at Bethel. So, with fresh pickerel every day, caught through the ice, there was not much danger of our starving.

You may guess that our ride up was a jolly one. The road lay through Newry Corner, Grafton Notch, and so up the valley, down the other side of the “height o’ land” to Upton, where we stopped over night with the proprietor of the Lake House, who had been warned of our coming, and was ready with big fires and a hot supper.

Next morning we were up bright and early, and hardly had finished our coffee and corn bread when the horse was heard jingling his bells at the door.

Away we went once more, following the road some distance, and then striking right out across the ice toward the head of the lake. It was just noon when we reached the spot where we intended to camp.

“Good-by to ye,” called the driver, backing his horses round, after he had helped us take off our boxes.

“Good-by, good-by!” we shouted. “Come for us early Friday morning.”

It was a curious feeling, finding ourselves all alone in that wilderness, the old pung gradually shrinking in the distance, till it was a mere speck on the ice, and then disappeared altogether.

“Come, fellows,” called Rodney; “if we want a place to sleep in we must fly round lively. Will, you clear away some of this snow and brush; the rest of us’ll go back in the woods a piece and cut poles.”

We worked like beavers for the next four hours. Two six-foot uprights were cut, and driven a little way into the icy ground eight feet apart, then propped with short pieces.

Across the crotches of these uprights was laid a stout ridge-pole; two more stringers reached from the ends of this back to the ground, which rose slightly in the rear. Then more rafters were laid on, from the ridge-pole to the ground, until they nearly touched. After the first half-dozen we weren’t particular about their being straight, but flung them on just as they came, with the ends sticking far out in the front.

Two stakes were then driven on each side of this shelter, the forward ones beside the uprights, and the others where the stringers rested on the ground.

In the space between these stakes and the shelter were piled the trunks of a couple of good-sized spruces, cut into half a dozen lengths and laid on top of each other, so that they formed very tolerable side walls, two or three feet high.

The three-cornered openings left above them on the sides were stuffed with green boughs, cut from the spruces we had felled, and boughs piled deep on the roof, and on the ground all around, back and sides.

We now narrowed the open front by side-posts and brush, leaving an entrance about five feet wide, protected by the projecting tips of our rafters.

I forgot to say that almost the first thing we did was to kindle a fire in front of the camp, and it was kept roaring, though compact, all the afternoon while we worked.

“Whew!” said Ned, throwing down his axe and wiping his forehead. “Sun’s setting, and the fire-logs not arranged yet. Shall we lay in some supper, or go for’em now?”

“I say supper,” responded Rob. “We have worked harder’n we ever did in our lives since half-past twelve, and I’m pretty near used up, for one.”

“I’ll bring up some water,” shouted Dick, starting for the lake with a pail and an axe.

“You fellows open a can of beef, and fish out the tea and hard-bread while I’m gone.”

The path to the lake took a sharp turn round a big bowlder three or four rods from the camp, and Dick presently was out of sight, swinging his pail and whistling cheerily as he disappeared behind the bowlder. The rest of us immediately began active preparations for supper.

A crotched stick about three feet high was hammered into the ground, on the outskirts of the fire, and a slender pole, some eight feet in length, was laid over this crotch, one end on the ground with a stone on it, to keep it down, the other end projecting over the glowing coals, which we raked slightly apart from the center of the fire.

This was our crane, on which we hung a kettle, filling it with snow to be melting while Dick got fresh water from our big well. Then we opened a can of beef, and got out some hard-tack. The coffee was placed near at hand, and, nothing now lacking but the pail of water, Captain Rod gave orders for a bed.

All three of us plunged into the woods at the back of the camp, and selected a good thick leaved fir. Rodney attacked it with his axe, making a beautiful clean “scar!” as he was a fine woodsman.

In almost less time than it takes to tell it, the snow about the foot of the tree was strewn with yellow, odorous chips, and presently the noble fir itself quivered and creaked.

“Look out, boys!” shouted Rod, sinking the axe almost to the helve in the other side of the trunk, and down it came with a grand sweep, taking two smaller trees to the ground with it.

At it we went, breaking, cutting, pulling, until each had a good-sized pile of boughs. Rodney had watched the guides, and knew how to manage his so as to carry a much larger bundle than we could handle.

Before breaking a twig he deftly lopped off a straight bough, leaving two or three inches of side-shoot at the lower end sticking out like the barb of a hook, or an old-fashioned “ hay-tucker.” Then he sharpened the upper end of the stick, and as fast as he broke off branches for the bed impaled them on this rod, exactly as a book-keeper runs his bills and memoranda on a wire.

When he had a pile as high as his shoulders he took it up easily by the central stick, while we were struggling to hug up half the amount in our arms.

Well, all this took time, and when we came in sight of the camp again nearly half an hour must have elapsed. It was already too dark to walk comfortably in the woods, and the wind was sweeping down from the northeast in a way that made our noses and fingers tingle.

“Dick, you lazy fellow,” I called out, as we approached the red circle of the fire, “come out here and help carry these boughs.”

“Yes,” chimed in Rod, “if you don’t bring enough for your share of the bed we’ll make you sleep on a log.”

Dick didn’t answer, and we were almost provoked when we drew nearer, and throwing down our bundles rushed into the camp, where we supposed he was hiding.

To our surprise he was not there, nor did we see any pail of water.

“Dick, Dick!” we shouted in chorus.

No answer, only the wind shivering and moaning among the tree-tops.

“He’s trying to scare us,” said Rodney, looking a little queer. “I’ll warm him up, though. Come on, fellows!”

And seizing a blazing brand from the fire he ran down the path toward the lake. We followed close behind, I, for one, with a beating heart.

Could Dick have broken through the ice? He had been away for full three quarters of an hour, and I knew he never would stay down on the shore that length of time for fun in the biting wind.

Rod kept on ahead, streaming sparks and smoke, like an engine on its way to a fire.

We passed the bowlder, where Dick’s tracks were plain, all pointing one way. Suddenly our leader paused, lowered his torch, and scrutinized the snow closely.

We crowded up to his side, and at the same time he pointed downward, without a word.

What was our amazement, not unmixed with a certain vague terror, to find a second footprint beside Dick’s, pointing in the same direction, and evidently hurrying along with or after our friend.

There was something so uncanny about this silent and uninvited addition to our party that we were all held spell-bound with the sudden fright, that grew on us every moment in the gathering darkness. We even retreated a few steps instinctively, from the strange presence that had come into our midst without warning, and done we knew not what with poor Dick.

In a minute, however, a nobler impulse mastered us, and after a whispered consultation we moved forward again, stepping cautiously, and scrutinizing the newcomer’s steps with great care.

The trail struck in from the densest part of the cedar growth bordering the lake, and mingled with Dick’s from a point only a short distance beyond the bowlder.

“Get the rifle, and half a dozen extra cartridges,” whispered Rod.

And I did so, looking nervously over my shoulder as I passed the shadowy depths of the forest that closed about the path.

Thus, fully armed, we advanced in single file, Rod ahead, with the torch, then Ned, and I bringing up the rear with the rifle.

Dimly, through the twisted trunks of the cedars, the dull-white expanse of the lake came in sight.

A dry twig broke under Ned’s foot. An instant later a voice came through the darkness.

It was strained and hoarse, and hardly louder than a whisper, but we recognized it as Dick’s. “Help, fellows, help! Come quick!”

We hesitated no longer, but, reckless of consequences, plunged forward in the direction of the cry.

CHAPTER II.

ON we went, tramping down the underbrush, and shouting to Dick at the same time to keep up his courage.

What was awaiting us we had not the remotest idea. That our fellow “Vagabond” had been overtaken by some sort of an enemy, and was. nearly exhausted, if not worse, was enough to nerve our hands for anything.

Here was adventure enough for a company of quiet Boston boys, alone in the wilderness with night closing down on them. I confess I wished myself well out of it.

In almost less time than it takes to tell it we broke out through the tangled growth, scrambled over the loose rocks composing the shore, and were on the clear ice. Then we stopped so suddenly that we almost fell over one another.

If the situation had not been so serious the sight that was before our eyes would have made us scream with laughter.

There sat, or rather crouched, poor Dick, shaking with cold, but making the most hideous faces, and contorting his arms and legs into every conceivable position.

We actually thought, at first, that fright had unsettled his mind; but a second glance showed the reason for his strange behavior. Directly before him, and distant but a few feet, had been chopped an irregular opening in the ice about as large as a man’s body, and beside it lay the bucket and axe.

Exactly opposite Dick, and at just about the same distance from the hole, sat a huge creature whose long dark fur, small ears and fierce little eyes proclaimed him at once to be an animal familiar to us from childhood in our picture-books—a black bear.

There was no mistaking his species, nor his intentions, either; for the moment he saw us he withdrew his puzzled gaze from the singular being who had been performing for his benefit on the other side of the spring, and with a low snarling growl dropped on all-fours for an advance.

Rod, as I said, was in front, and seeing Bruin start forward he followed a sudden instinct and threw the blazing brand which he still carried full in the enemy’s face, retreating as he did so, and shouting:

“The rifle, the rifle! Quick, Will!”

The bear dodged slightly as he saw the brand whizzing toward him, and received the force of it full on his left ear, scattering sparks in a shower around his face, and evidently so seriously disturbing his composure that he was half-inclined to make off.

Finding, however, that he was only singed a little, he continued to advance, his wicked little eyes shining through the dusk, and his white teeth showing as he paused a moment to lick the fur where the sparks had fallen.

Meanwhile, my brother had darted to one side to get possession of the axe. As Rod seized Dick, who could not stand alone, and dragged him away, I cocked the rifle and brought it to my shoulder with trembling hands.

The bear was not more than a dozen feet away when I pulled the trigger.

For an instant the smoke prevented my seeing the result of my shot. In the midst of it came a scream, and what was my horror to see Ned slip and fall on the ice, losing his hold on the axe as he went down. Almost before he struck the ice the bear was upon him.

I tried to shout to Rod, but could make no sound. The axe lay at my feet. Hardly knowing what I was about, I seized it and rushed into the fight. A terrible rage came over me at the sight of my brother’s prostrate figure under the bear’s claws, and with twice my ordinary strength, it seemed, I swung the axe round and brought it down on the snarling, biting head of the animal.

The blow seemed to have no effect whatever, and I was poising the axe for a second assault, which, in my wildness, might have injured poor Ned more than his shaggy opponent, when the latter suddenly stopped growling, lurched heavily to one side, and in another moment lay stretched upon the icy Umbagog, quite dead.

My shot, I afterward found, was enough to have finished him, having penetrated his tough hide just behind the fore-shoulder, as he turned toward Ned. Had it not been for the blow on the head, however, there is no telling what mischief he might have done while life remained in him.

As it was, I hardly dared to examine Ned, who groaned, and slowly raised himself on his elbow. I cried like a baby to find he was still alive, and hugged him as I used to do when we were little chaps.

“Hold on, old fellow,” said Ned, his voice trembling a little, “don’t take on so about it. I’m all right, I guess.”

And to our astonishment (for Rod had hurried up with the re-loaded rifle, leaving Dick to stamp the circulation into his hands and feet on shore)—to our astonishment and delight Ned rose, rather stiffly, to be sure, to his feet, rubbing his elbows, and feeling of himself at various points, more like a boy who has been thrown in a good-natured wrestle on the playground than one rescued from the clutches of a ferocious bear.

Yes, it was true. Beyond slight bruises and a scratch or two, Ned was uninjured. A stout leathern vest had prevented the brute’s claws from penetrating, and he had fallen in such a way as to protect his face and hands.

Thankful to the depths of our hearts for this narrow escape from a fatal termination to our trip, we now turned our attention to Dick, leaving the carcass of the bear where it lay.

Before Dick would stir a step from the lake he insisted on limping back to the hole and filling his pail with water.

“Now I’ve got what I started for,” said he grimly, “we’ll go back to the camp.”

We were all more or less shaken up with our adventure, and were glad enough to reach the hut, which really began to seem like a home.

To carry the boughs inside and arrange them for a bed was the work of but a few minutes. We let Dick rest and warm himself by the fire, and while we made the bed and prepared the supper he told us how he had been taken prisoner. The bear, he said, did not put in an appearance till the hole was made in the ice, and he, Dick, was about ready to dip up the water and start back.

As he threw down his axe and lifted his head, there was Sir Bruin slowly making his way through the bushes, close at hand.

The boy’s first impulse had been to run for it, but he had heard that bears were cowards, and concluded to stand his ground, giving a shout to frighten the intruder away, as if it were a rabbit.

“The bear didn’t scare worth a cent,” concluded Dick ruefully, rubbing his shins, “and I had all I could do to amuse him till you fellows came. I tried to shout, but that game wouldn’t work, for the old fellow growled at the noise, and came near finishing the job at once.”

“I can tell you it’s no joke to wrestle with one of those chaps,” struck in Ned. “I’ve got the backache from head to foot.”

Fortunately we had laid in a moderate supply of fuel earlier in the day, and as soon as supper was over we threw on some big logs that would burn all night. It wasn’t quite so cold as it had been, but the air had a penetrating quality that foretold snow.

“To-morrow morning,” said Rod, “we’ll go down to the lake and cut off some bear-steaks. It’ll take a good two hours to skin the old fellow.” As he spoke he brushed something from his face. It was a snowflake. Another and another fell.

We looked blankly at one another, for a storm, such as often sweeps through northern Maine, would keep us in camp for days, and might blockade the roads so that our friends from Upton could not reach us.

In less than five minutes it was snowing so thickly that we could not see fifty feet from the camp.

“Be sure that everything is under shelter,” Rod sung out. “If we leave a dish or a hatchet out to-night that’s the last we shall see of it.”

We bustled about in lively fashion, housing all our goods, and building up the fire with a solid roof of logs, so that the snow should not put it out. Then we retreated to the doorway of the camp, where we were protected by the ends of our rafters overhead, and the full force of the heat was felt.

Each of us wore a blanket, Indian fashion.

“I say,” chuckled Rod, “wouldn’t it astonish some of those elegant chaps at school if they could see us now?”

“Yes, and the teachers, too,” chimed in Dick.

“Talk about Xenophon’s Anabasis. What was his fighting compared with the ‘Campaign of * the Umbagog?’”

“That might have been a serious thing, though,” added Rod, shaking his head soberly. “These black bears are cowardly enough, as a general thing; but when they’re hungry, in the winter time, they’re tough customers.”

“I thought they went into dens and slept through the cold months.”

“So they do, for the most part. Once in a while, though, there’s one belated, or started out by a thaw, or some such chance.”

“That’s why the old fellow wasn’t livelier,” interrupted Dick. “I thought he acted kind of stupid and dazed.”

“That is about the way of it,” said Rodney, giving the fire a last shaking together.

And soon thereafter we all turned in.

A rubber blanket, stretched over the fir boughs beneath us, kept off every suspicion of dampness, and the snow, which now lay on the roof like a thatch, did excellent service in shutting out draughts.

Curling up in our blankets, we wished each other good-night, and, tired out with the fatigue of the day, were soon fast asleep, little dreaming what awaited us on the morrow.

CHAPTER III.

HOW long we had slept I do not know, but it was still pitchy dark when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard Rod’s whisper in my ear:

“Wake up, old fellow, wake up. You and I’ll give’em a surprise.”

I rubbed my eyes and sat upright. Oh! how cold it was. Though the fire was still glowing under the sturdy row of green logs, it threw but scant warmth within the camp. The snow, I could dimly see, was falling in what seemed solid drifts, whirling to and fro before the fierce wind which moaned and roared through the treetops overhead. Everywhere except in the little circle reached by the ember-light of the fire, was utter blackness of night.

“I say,” whispered Rod, giving me another vigorous shake, “thaw out, Will, and get those sleepy eyes of yours open.”

“What are you (ya-a-a-w!) going to do? It isn’t half morning yet.”

“I’ll tell you,” said Rod. “Ned and Dick are sleeping like troopers, and you and I can dodge down to the lake and take out a pickerel through that bear-hole before they wake up. We’ll get them a good fish breakfast, to pay for the rough handling they had last night.” “All right.”

I was fully awake by this time, and was hastily stuffing my pockets with doughnuts and corn-bread, brought as lunch from the farmhouse the day before.

“We can nibble a little on this while we’re fishing. Got the bait and fixings?”

“Yes; here’s two little pollock—they’ll be enough. Poor little fellows, how they wiggle! I’ll put’em in this dipper. Lines and sticks are just beyond you, under that bunch of spruce— there, now we’re ready!”

All this was said in the lowest of whispers, and the tumult of the storm in the forest drowned the slight noise of our preparations.

The live bait, I ought to say, we had brought from Portland. It seemed sort of cruel, but it’s the only way to catch pickerel in the winter that I know of.

Well, we tucked the robes around the two sleepers, stirred up the fire, and buttoning our “ pea-jackets,” with caps turned down over our ears, started out into the night, or morning rather, for Rod’s watch said half-past six.

I had a small twenty-two-caliber revolver in one of my pockets, and Rod carried a box containing nineteen cartridges. The rest we had fired away for fun the day before, except five that were in the pistol, with the hammer carried on the empty chamber.

The moment we were out of the shelter of the camp, the wind came down upon us, buffeting us to and fro and driving the snow in our faces, so that I felt half inclined to give up the job; but Rod was plucky, and said he had his mind’s eye on a certain big pickerel that was at that particular minute toasting his fins and winking, on the mud at the bottom of the lake.

“He’s got to come out, sure, and we’ll broil him for breakfast. Won’t those fellows stare when we bring him in?”

“Hold on, Rod, we’re out of the path!”

So we were, and though we soon found it we lost it again half a dozen times before we struggled through the undergrowth and out upon the dreary surface of Umbagog. Dreary? Imagine a vast level plain, dead white in the first faint daylight, surrounded by black and almost impenetrable forest, hardly visible in the dense mist of flakes, and swept from end to end with a pitiless, northerly wind, with the snow swirling up, down, right and left, like the surf on the ocean. From all sides came the dull, monotonous roar of the resisting tree-tops along the shores.

It was with considerable difficulty that we found the hole; indeed it was only by stumbling over the carcass of the bear, near which the battle of the evening before had taken place.

“Here we are!” shouted Rod, above the roar of the storm. “Let’s clear away the snow a little. Helloo! Found the hole, Will? That’s too bad! Ha, ha, ha!”

The fact was that I had incautiously stepped straight into the hole that Dick had chopped before meeting the enemy. It had frozen over during the night, and the snow had drifted evenly across.

I drew ray leg out of the hole, and gazed ruefully at my dripping trousers.

“Never mind,” said Rod, when he had got over laughing, “you can dry it by the fire, soon’s we catch one fish—or you can go back now and get warm, if you like.”

“It isn’t cold, only moist,” I chattered, thrashing my arms together. “Hurry up with your stick, Rod. I guess I’ll wait.”

A few clips with the small, sharp hatchet which Rod carried in a case and belt at his side, and the upright was firmly bedded in the ice beside the hole, with the cross-bar hanging flag down. Then, with some difficulty, arising from numb fingers, we managed to fasten on the bait and lower it to the proper depth.

By this time we were walking snowdrifts ourselves.

“While we are waiting,” said Rod, “I’ll see if I can’t cut off a bear-steak for the boys.”

“Oh! don’t hurt the skin.”

“I’ll fix it. I’ll make the cut where it won’t show. The guides taught me how.”

And he trotted over to the white mound which marked Brain’s huge body, kneeled beside it, and began to raise the skin with the skill of an old hunter.

At this minute the bit of red flannel attached to our fishing-tackle gave a jerk, rose slowly an inch or two, paused, and shot up to the full height of the stick.

I rushed to the hole, and seized the line. Something was wobbling stoutly at the other end.

Hand over hand I pulled him in, and presently the black water in the opening parted, disclosing the long gaunt jaws of a pickerel. A moment later he lay flapping on the snow.

“Gracious! What’s that?” cried Rod, dropping his knife, and running over to me. “A perfect shark, isn’t he? Five pounds, if he’s an ounce. Look at that mouth!”

“Would you try again?”

I began to feel my wet foot, and, to tell the truth, could not help thinking of the camp and the blazing fire.

“Oh! let’s set it once more, Will. We sha’n’t have to come down again to-day, you know. I’ve got a splendid slice of meat almost off.”

“All right, here goes. There’s only one more bait, anyway.”

It was full ten minutes before the flag again tilted up. We had almost given in. Rod had his steak in his pocket, and was ready to start, when the signal fluttered once more, and another pickerel came up through the hole. He would perhaps have weighed half a pound or so less than the first.

“Now, then,” shouted Rod, cheerily, pulling up the stick and reeling in the line, “we’re off for camp. Won’t those fellows howl when they see us cooking bear-steak and pickerel!”

“We must keep’em quiet to-day, Rod. My brother’s pretty well shaken up, after all.” “We’ll all keep quiet—cook, eat, sleep and tell stories.”

“You can’t walk round any in the woods any way, without snow-shoes.”

“That’s so. This snow is drifting like fun. Whew! Wasn’t that a blizzard? Keep close to me, Will, or we’ll lose each other.”

We were floundering along now through the snow, on our return trip. I carried the pickerel, strung on a piece of fish-line, their big tails dragging in the drifts.

The snow was falling in such whirling, blinding masses, that, as Rod gasped out, “if we didn’t look out, we’d wade right off into the 99

£111* •

“I tell you, Rod,” 1 shouted into his ear, “these fish are heavy. It seems twice the distance it did coming.”

“That’s because the snow is deeper,” replied Rod, through his muffler.

We plunged along through the drifts for a minute or two in silence, taking our direction from the wind, which blew on our right cheeks. Our heads were bent downward, and our eyes almost crusted over with snow and sleet.

All at once Rod seized me by the shoulder with a tug that almost threw me over backward, and fairly shrieked:

“Will, Will, look out! See there!”

I looked. Right across our path, not ten feet away, stretched an open gap of black water, wrinkled in the fierce blasts that were tearing its surface. A half-dozen blind steps forward would have carried us both into it, with our benumbed limbs and heavy wrappings.

We looked at each other in silence for a moment; then clasped hands. I could feel Rod’s tremble in mine.

“Nobody would ever have known what became of us,” he said, in low, awe-struck tones. “We must be well out toward the middle of the lake.”

It was awful to think how near we had come to that still, black death. One foaming splash, a stifled cry, and both of us would have disappeared forever in those treacherous depths.

“Let’s go away,” I said. “Any direction but that!”

We clung to each other as we walked now, and went very slowly, not knowing but the next step would plunge us through some thinly-covered pitfall. It was like the stories of Alpine explorers passing over crevasses.

“It’s of no use to go on this way,” said Rod, at length. “I’m getting used up, and we’re just walking ahead without the least plan. I shouldn’t be surprised if we were making circles in the center of this lake.”

“Which way is the wind?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out. It baffles round so, I can’t tell.”

Just then a sound fell faintly on my ear.

“Hark!” I cried, “what’s that?”

It was a dull, far-off roar, like the surf on a sandy beach in a storm.

“I know!” shouted Rod. “It’s the woods. We’re nearer than I thought we were.”

“But you don’t know what part of the shore it is?”

“Never mind. If we once get into the woods, we can take care of ourselves till this storm clears off. “We’ve got provision enough and both of us have matches.”

With new courage we pushed on in the direction of the sound, which momentarily grew louder.

The wind, instead of lessening, became more boisterous, so that, taking it squarely in our faces, as we were obliged to do, it was at times nearly impossible to stir. • The snow, too, lay on the ice at an average of over a foot in depth, and huge ten-foot drifts often swelled suddenly across our path, forcing us to make wide detours.

Once we came upon another dangerous airhole, and went a long distance out of our way to make sure of getting past it in safety.

At last, through the tossing wreaths of snow, we caught sight of the shadowy forest.

“Breakers ahead!” I cried, with a good will. “Brace up, Rod; we’re almost there!” for the poor fellow was nearly past speaking.

All this time my right leg, which had gone into the pickerel-hole, was as heavy as lead with its coating of ice; and oh! how cold.

Although the woods looked so near, we were nearly half an hour more in reaching them.

Staggering over the rough bowlders and fallen trunks that jagged the shore line, we found a bluff of almost perpendicular ledge, from ten to forty feet in height. Its base was entirely exposed to the sweep of the wind, which eddied around pitilessly in a sort of mimic amphitheater.

“I don’t believe I can climb up there,” groaned poor Rod, stumbling heavily against a fallen cedar. “I’ve got to rest here awhile.”

“Don’t you do it,” said I, earnestly, giving him a good slap on the back. “If you stop here, you’ll never get any farther. And it would be impossible to keep a fire going in this whirlwind of snow, even if you could get it started.”

Rodney, who was a boy of remarkable will for one so young, slowly and painfully rose to his feet.

“That’s right!” I cried. “One good pull, now, and we’re up. Hooray!”

It was rather a feeble cheer, but I did it on principle, remembering how Napoleon ordered the band to strike up as his army was crossing the Alps. If my voice resembled neither a bugle-call nor a clarionet, it was not for want of good intentions on my part. Anyway it made the ice on Rod’s face wrinkle in a way that seemed to indicate a frozen smile in behind somewhere, so I was satisfied with my success.

It was a terribly hard climb, that thirty feet. It seemed higher than Mt. Washington to us tired boys. But we accomplished it at last, and began to look about us for a shelter. The woods came clean down to the ledge, the top of which was rough and broken, with a few firs and stunted cedars that found nourishment in the crevices of the cliff.

Seeing a small opening in an upright face of rock, where two huge bowlders had in ages past fallen upon one another, Rod stepped forward to investigate it. The next moment he sank out of sight.

My heart almost stopped beating as I plunged forward.

“Rod! Rod!” I shouted. “What is the matter? Where are you?”

A voice came out of the bowels of the earth, almost directly beneath my feet.

“All right, Will. Come down here yourself. Be careful where you step.” ‘

While he was still speaking, I felt the ground give way under me, and down I shot, just as Rod had done, landing fairly on his back.

“Rod,” I gasped, picking myself up, and gazing about me in a sort of stupid wonder, “as a step-ladder you are a failure.”

“Will, as a bird of prey you are a success. I feel as if a condor had come down on me. But, say, how’s this?”

“This” was certainly a curious place. We found ourselves, as soon as our eyes became accustomed to the dim light, in a sort of natural stone hut—for it was not sufficiently underground to be properly called a cave, though I shall often have to use the word for convenience—formed by the bowlders I have described. It was shaped, roughly speaking, like the interior of a tent, perhaps seven or eight feet high in the middle. The floor was slanting, and covered, as we soon ascertained, with a thick coating of dried cedar, fir and spruce needles. “Well, if this isn’t jolly I wouldn’t say sol” shouted Rod, his spirits reviving rapidly. “Not a bit of snow in here, except by the front door.”

“There’s a crack over your head, that lets in the air.”

“Just right for a draft, to drive the smoke out. We’ll have a fire in no time.”

The entrance through which he had slipped was concealed by a mesh of dried twigs and boughs, which had naturally enough broken under our weight. It was the work of but a few minutes to pull enough of these down to furnish ample fuel for a good afternoon’s fire.

“Where are those pickerel, Will?” asked Rod, laying the smaller twigs in a heap just on one side of the entrance.

“I dropped’em outside when you fell.”

“Better climb out and get them before the snow covers’em up.”

Once more I emerged into the storm, which I had almost forgotten, it was so quiet in our shelter. It was lucky that Rod spoke when he did, for the fish were already half-buried.

The wind fairly bellowed in the tree-tops overhead, and 1 was glad enough to dive into camp again.

A grateful smell of burning wood greeted me, and a column of blue smoke curled up from the opening.

“Hi, yi!” shouted Rodney, capering like a Zulu before the fire. “Look at that blaze! Won’t we have a toasting to make up for this morning’s work, though?”

“What time is it, Rod?”

“Oh! I don’t know. Haven’t looked at my watch since we left camp. Must be as much as twelve o’clock. It was half-past six when we started—Will, it’s a quarter of four!”

“I thought it was getting rather dark out of doors,” I remarked. “Seems to me we’d better lay in some fuel for to-night.”

It was hard to leave the fire and the fish, for we were awfully hungry, thirsty and cold, all at once. But there was plainly no other way, if we didn’t want to freeze before morning. So at it we went, throwing sticks and branches, whenever we could find them sticking up through the snow, into the little open space which we cleared before our door.

Then Rod cut a lot of boughs with his hatchet, lopping them off from the low cedars and firs a dozen a minute, while I gathered and flung them down into the opening.

After half an hour’s hard work, we concluded we had enough for the night, and tumbled in after our fuel. The wood we piled on one side as well as we could, and placed a couple of sticks directly across our front door, with half a dozen big green boughs laid on them to keep out the wind and snow.

The rest of the boughs we arranged in a sort of couch, the fir needles and a layer of moss forming a nice under-mattress.

On both sides of the doorway, just inside the entrance, the bowlders were draped with rock-ferns, which, showing bright green against an inch-deep background of snow, formed the prettiest wall-decoration imaginable.

“You see,” said Rod, working over the fire, and helping me dress the smaller of the two pickerel, “I’ve built the fire so the smoke goes out through the transom over the hall door.”

“Ah, exactly so. I thought there was a window open somewhere.”

“The bear-steak is out on that rock, nicely frozen.”

“‘All the world’s a refrigerator—’”

“And the only thing that really puzzles me is what to drink.”

“Rod,” said I, persuasively, “won’t you kindly step out to that crack in the middle of the lake, and draw a little Umbagog water? It can’t be more than three or four miles from here. I’ll wait for you with pleasure.”

“I guess you will! I thought you were the fellow to take water out of the lake; you must have about a gallon in your right boot.”

“See here, Rod, I’ve got an idea”—

“No! Hold it tight till I get there and help you.”

“Sh-h! Listen! You see that hollow in the rock just beside the fire?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, why can’t we brush it and wipe it out clean, and melt snow in it?”

“Pooh!’Twill all be hot.”

“Not much! That is, if you drink it at the minute it melts.”

“Scorch your nose off!”

“You’ve got your leather drinking-cup.”

“Good! So I have! Why, we’ll have a glorious”—

“Hark!”

We both heard a long, low cry from behind us—dismal, pitiful.

“A wolf!” said Rod, under his breath, turning pale.

Again it rose on the wind, prolonged and melancholy beyond any sound that ever fell on my ears. But it was no wolf. I could not be mistaken.

“Rod,” I cried, springing to my feet and buttoning my coat hurriedly. “It’s from the lake, and, hark! it’s a girl’s voice!”

CHAPTER IV.

WHEN Ned awoke on the morning after his adventure with the bear, he felt as if he never wanted to move again. He was one stiff ache from head to foot, and for a minute, as he told me afterward, wished he was in his own comfortable bed at home. He was still rubbing his eyes sleepily, when he was startled by a whack across the chest, followed by a dig in the shoulder, from Dick.

“Halloo! say! take that! get off, will you?”—these and various other remarks indistinctly muttered by the valiant sleeper, together with the blows which he planted against Ned and the side of the cabin, indicated that Dick was fighting his battles over again. His face twitched go, and his half-coherent exclamations were so full of terror—not to mention considerations of self-protection—that Ned determined to wake the dreamer, which he did by a vigorous shake.

“Come out of that, old fellow,” he shouted, with an extra groan for his own sore joints. “ What do you take me for? a grizzly bear?”

“Hey?” drawled Dick, sleepily, only half-awake. “That you, Ned? I thought there was a bear sitting on me,” he went on in that drowsy but intensely earnest tone in which people tell their dreams while their brains are still in the fogs of Nodland. “There was—another bear coming— with the hatchet—and he said”—

“Who said?” demanded Ned, with a roar of laughter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Dick. Wake up, will you, and get me some breakfast? Halloo! where’s Will and Rod?”

Dick sat up, bumping his head against a rafter, lay down again, and would have been asleep in half a minute if Ned had not kept at him.

“Pickerel!” shouted Ned, trying to think of all the striking objects that could be brought to bear on Dick’s consciousness. “Bears, brown bread, snowstorms, Umbagog-gog-gog! There, I guess you’re awake now,” he added, with a sigh of relief, as Dick’s eyes assumed their daytime roundness.

“It’s awful cold, Ned. Where do you suppose the fellows have gone?”

“Oh! I don’t know. Down after water, likely.”

“I must get out and brace up that fire. What time is it by your watch?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Ow-ow-wow!” yawned Dick. “Here goes. Whew, how it snows!” he exclaimed, stretching himself and putting his head out of the door. “Here’s a drift two feet deep right where we had supper last night. Say, how do you feel this morning, Ned? I forgot to ask.” “I feel like a bump,” groaned Ned. “There are more than four hundred aches in me, with connecting lines and way stations. I’ll get up in a minute and help.”

“No, you won’t; you just stay where you are. There, the fire’s not so bad, I can tell you. Your brother must have fixed it a little before he went out. Now I’ll have a cup of hot coffee for all four of us before you can wink.”

“Where’s your water?”

“Melting in the kettle. See? Patent waterworks. I wish I had a slice of bear.”

“That’s where they’ve gone!” cried Ned, with sudden inspiration. “They’re after a sirloin, as sure’s as you’re alive.”

“All right,” sung out Dick, warming to his work, “we’ll have the ‘ fancies’ ready for them when they get back. “It’s only a few minutes’ walk, though it did seem awful long last night.”

The wind blew such gusts of snow into the cook’s face and eyes, as he bustled about between the fire and the camp, that his patience and ingenuity were severely tried.

“I never saw anything like it,” he gasped. “It fairly blows the blaze right out of the fire and then touches it off again.”

“By and by,” called Ned, from under the blankets, “we’ll rig some kind of shelter to windward, so we can cook in comfort. Ah! that looks good.”

Dick advanced with a dipper of coffee. It was strong, and had four small sticks and a considerable amount of cinders in it. But you can believe it tasted good to those boys.

The condensed milk made it palatable, although it is doubtful if either of them would have touched the smoking and muddy compound had it been served on his mother’s table at home.

Some time was spent in sipping the coffee, with a doughnut or two “to wash it down,” as Dick suggested.

Then Dick collected some more firewood; and now there was nothing to do but sit down and wait for the other two “Vagabonds.”

Dick crept in under the blankets beside Ned. The fire, blazing high, threw a generous volume of heat into the open door of the camp.

“This isn’t so bad,” chuckled Dick, cuddling down under the blankets.

Neither of the boys felt in the least sleepy, though they shut their eyes and tried hard.

“No use,” said Dick, at length. “I’m awake for the day, sure.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” from Ned, under the blanket.

“Where in the world do you imagine they are?”

“Perhaps your bear’s come to life, and they’re standing on their heads to make him laugh.”

“Oh! let up, Ned. That was the best thing to do, anyway. You’d find a puzzled expression on that bear’s face now, if you could dig him out of the snow.”

Dick fidgeted, like the restless boy he was; but Ned was content to give his aching bones a rest.

“It’s no use to talk,” said the former, after a moment’s silence. “I’m hungry’s a bison, and I’m going to have some breakfast, steak or no steak. If they bring it up, why, it’ll come in for dessert. Bear steak is my favorite dish after corned beef and coffee.”

An hour or more slipped by quickly. Breakfast was prepared and eaten; still no Will nor Rodney.

“You know now how we felt when we got back to camp last night, old fellow,” said Ned. “We were awfully scared about you, though nobody owned up.”

“Does that mean that you’re awfully scared now?” asked Dick quickly, turning a little pale.

Ned did not answer for a minute, but gave the fire a vigorous poke with a six-foot pole.

“It’s no use, Dick,” he said; “I do feel a little cut up about the fellows. We’ve been awake nearly three hours, and I don’t know how long before that they started. If it was a fair day, now, I wouldn’t mind; but in this howling storm—look, you can’t see a tree real plain, fifty feet away.”

“That’s so. And it’s cold—below zero, I should think”—

“And wind blowing a gale. Hear it roar!” “What shall we do? You couldn’t walk half-way to the lake if you tried.”

“I know it,” Ned groaned.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Dick, firmly; “you’ve got to stay here and keep house, Ned—no, you needn’t shake your head, old fellow. I’m just going down to the lake, and see if 1 can discover anything of Rod and Will.”

“But I’m afraid you’ll get lost, too.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll just go to the bear, and see if they’ve cut off any steaks. If they have, that’ll trace’em so far, any way. Then I’ll come back and report to you.”

“All right. Only be sure to hurry, Dick. I shall be worried till I see you again. Better take the gun.”

Dick put a few cartridges in his pocket, buttoned his coat up tightly, pulled his cap down over his ears, and taking the rifle under his arm, staggered off through the deep drifts toward the lake.

Half an hour passed, and Ned was still alone.

He dragged himself out, and built up the fire, against which the wind and snow were fighting furiously. This done, he was glad to creep back into the snug little hut, and nestle into the blankets again.

The minutes passed slowly, and it was nearly an hour before he heard the welcome sound of Dick’s voice through the storm.

As the boy approached, Ned peered anxiously out. In vain he gazed into the gray mist of flakes that swept over the path behind Dick. He was alone; the missing “Vagabonds” were not found.

“They’d been there,” puffed Dick, handing in the gun, and beating the snow from his sleeves and shoulders. “The bear was carved up some, and some slices had been taken off. Here’s a couple for ourselves.”

“Couldn’t you see which way the tracks went?”

“Tracks? Look there.”

Dick pointed to the path over which he had just passed. Hardly a trace of footprints was visible. The snow had drifted over them the moment they were made.

“I don’t know what we ought to do,” mused Ned. “It’s out of the question, you’re going off alone, and I’m afraid I couldn’t walk far myself. Suppose you fire the rifle three times; they may possibly hear it.”

Dick crept into the mouth of the hut and holding the cartridges ready, fired three shots in quick succession over the tree-tops.

“It doesn’t sound louder than a pop-gun,” he declared, throwing down the piece in disgust. “ I don’t see what’s the matter with it.” “It’s the noise the storm makes. It’s clean drowned out. No, there’s no use in firing; we may as well save our lead.”

“Let’s get up that bulkhead to windward while we’re thinking.”

Both boys set to work, glad to have something to do, though Ned could do little more than give advice.

Dick laid a pole across the lower boughs of two trees that grew some eight feet apart, close to the camp, and lashed the ends tight, at about six feet from the ground. Against these he leaned half a dozen others, tying each to the horizontal piece.

Then he waded a short distance into the woods, and, with a few vigorous blows of his axe, brought down an ample supply of green boughs and even small trees. These were piled and tucked against and around the framework already erected, on the side toward the wind, until a serviceable barricade stood up against the storm, making a comparatively quiet spot in its lee.

This space the boys cleared as well as they could, sweeping away the snow with fir-brooms.

The wind meanwhile seemed to steadily increase in fury, and by one o’clock in the afternoon the noise of the tossing, writhing tree-tops was like the roar of Niagara, while the air was as white as its foam with the swift, whirling wreaths of snow.

With heavy hearts, the boys prepared and ate a dinner of corned meat, hard tack and coffee. The bear steak they saved for their companions.

They prolonged the meal as far as possible into the afternoon, but the few dishes were cleared away at last, and they felt obliged to face the situation.

They built up the fire afresh, the thick bulkhead aiding them finely in keeping it in good shape, though their fuel was nearly exhausted. Then came the dreaded discussion of the possibilities as to the fate of the missing two.

“They can’t have gone far,” observed Ned, gloomily, as he sat cross-legged in the camp, enveloped in his blanket like an Indian. “The snow’s too deep. I don’t see how they could miss their way back.”

“You don’t know what it is out there on Umbagog,” said Dick, shaking his head. “The snow whirls in your face, and freezes over your eyes so, you can’t tell where you are.”

“Couldn’t you find any sign of footprints?”

“Only a few little hollows in the snow, right close to the bear and the hole in the ice. I don’t see what made’em stop and walk round there so long.”

“Perhaps there was another bear, the mate of the one we killed?”

“They might have—Oh! Ned.”

Dick clutched his friend’s hand so hard that it hurt him.

“Well, out with it! What now?”

“Don’t you remember seeing those great cracks in the ice as we drove over from Upton, yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Ned shuddered.

“Suppose they were half-blinded by the snow, and walked into one of them.”

“Rod can swim”—

“He’d go down like lead with his heavy coat on, and his arms and legs stiff with cold.”

They sat a few moments in silence, gazing into the fire, which snapped and crackled and hissed under the assaults of wind and snow.

“Well,” said Dick, at length, with a long breath, “I don’t see there’s anything to do about it. The wood’s almost out, and I’m going to chop up a little for afternoon and night. You may’s well cover up and keep warm. If they come, we want a good fire for’em; and, besides, they might catch the smell of smoke half a mile away.”

As there really seemed nothing else to do, Ned curled up in the blankets, as Dick suggested, and listened to the snapping fire, the moan of wind and forest, the sifting of snow against the camp.

What a change from his comfortable home in only three days. In the midst of a dreary wilderness, imprisoned by the storm, aching from the battle of the night before, in which his life had been imperiled. And where were his brother, his friend who had vanished so silently into that white uproar of tempest?

How could he return, and face his father and mother? How could he ever again enter the home of the boy he left in the icy waters of Umbagog, or stiff and cold in the pathless forest that darkens its shore?

As he thought of these things, a tear stole over his cheek, in spite of himself, and lying there in the little fir-thatched, snow-drifted Camp Vagabond, he prayed as he never had before, that his comrades’ lives might be spared, and that all four might join hands once more, as they should leave the wilderness when the tempest abated.

Greatly comforted by his prayer, he once more lay quietly listening to the fire and storm, and the muffled blows of Dick’s axe.

Now, Dick had a decided advantage over Ned, in that he could work, and so keep his mind occupied, in part, at least, with what he was doing.

When he left Ned, warmly tucked in, he looked about for a suitable point of attack on the trees around him. A yellow birch stood close by, and at it went Dick. He was not an experienced chopper, and standing waist-deep in a drift while he worked was inconvenient. Nevertheless, he put so much energy and good will into his rather wild blows that ere long the tree shivered to its topmost branches, creaked, creaked, and came down with a rush, almost crushing Dick, who hadn’t the least idea where it would fall.

Luckily, he had made his cut on the side toward the lake, so that the birch fell partly away from the camp, just clearing the bulkhead.

The branches now came off one by one, as the bright axe flashed in the air again and again.

Dick wiped his brow—for it was hot work even with the thermometer at zero—and surveyed the conquered trunk with pardonable satisfaction.

“There,” he said, aloud, “you’re down, old fellow, if you were the biggest. Here goes for some good logs.”

Blow on blow again, and the chips flew livelier than ever.

One five-foot length cut off; another, and then another. The task became easier with each length, as Dick had sensibly begun at the butt.

The larger boughs were now treated in the same way, and the small wood cut up for kindling and freshening up the fire. The only remaining duty was to pile the whole near the camp, which was soon accomplished.

Dick eyed with much complacency the wood-pile, with its crisp, yellow edges of bark curling up; but with rest from work came renewed anxiety for the lost ones. He walked up to the camp and looked in, checking a careless exclamation as he did so.

“Halloo,” he said to himself, “Ned’s asleep again! Poor fellow, he needs it.”

The sight of the rifle, lying where he had thrown it in the morning, suggested a new idea to the restless boy.

With one eye on his sleeping comrade, he crept in out of the storm, and feeling in his pocket for a pencil, wrote on a card:

“3.30 p. m. Gone down to the lake; back in half an hour.

Dick.”

Then he took up the rifle softly, and sticking the card on one of the rafters where Ned couldn’t miss seeing it, stole out once more, and took the now familiar path to the lake.

It was already growing darker, and Dick felt in his heart that he was doing a foolhardy thing to start out at that time. He calculated, however, that he could make his way to where the carcass of the bear lay, cut off a further supply of meat, make a circuit of a few hundred feet on the ice, firing his rifle as he went, and be back at the camp by four o’clock, or quarter past, at the latest. After that he knew it would be as much as his life was worth to be alone on that terribly white desert of frozen lake.

For a while all went well. The snow was much deeper than when he had last passed that way; but he did not mind that, and the very difficulty in making his progress through the woods served to take up his mind and keep him from worrying over the future.

Still, the minutes fled rapidly, and he was surprised, on emerging from the cedars, to find how the twilight had crept down. His stay on the ice must be brief indeed.

At first he missed the bear, and lost so much valuable time in finding it that he decided to postpone the steak-cutting operation, at least till he was ready to start back.

Five minutes, he thought, would do for the circuit he proposed to make.

He had already loaded the rifle, and had a pocket half-full of cartridges besides. Walking a few steps, he fired the gun into the air and listened intently.

The monotonous, cruel, hopeless roar of the storm was the only sound that greeted his aching ears. Six times he repeated this maneuver, with equal want of success.

Then he turned to retrace his steps. What was his dismay, after a few minutes’ aimless plunging about in the drifts, to find that he had utterly forgotten his whereabouts. He knew not which way to turn; the wind swept great drifts into his face, and seemed to blow from every quarter at once. The twilight settled fast, and no shore nor tree was to be seen in any direction. He too, at last, was lost on Umbagog!

Dick had a stout heart, and was by no means . ready to give up, though he realized to the full the perilous situation he was in. Ned, he knew, was well supplied with fuel and food, and would suffer only from anxiety. No, Dick felt he need have no apprehensions for Ned. His only task was to keep himself alive till morning.

If he could reach the shore, he felt his chances of safety would be increased a hundred-fold, as he could find some sort of shelter, and perhaps build a fire.

With this in view, he kept on walking as nearly as he could guess in a straight line, for considerably over an hour. Still no sign of land. He realized, and his heart chilled at the thought, that he might, for all his care, be traveling in a circle in the center of that waste of snow and ice. He dreaded, too, the treacherous crevasses, where the thin ice that skimmed them might be covered with snow.

He was nearly exhausted, and staggering along hopelessly through the darkness, with the wind buffeting him more furiously than ever, when he caught a sound that made his blood tingle. It was Rodney’s voice, full of anguish and terror. Almost at the same moment came a succession of half a dozen pistol shots, and a scream that sounded strangely in that wilderness—the cry of a girl:

“Help, help!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Dick sprang forward. A dozen steps was all he needed to advance. Bounding toward him, scarcely distinguishable in the dim light of remaining day, came a figure which he recognized in a moment as Rodney’s. Behind him was the form of a man of much larger and heavier build, with a club upraised to beat down the flying lad.

Dick did not wait to consider, but throwing his rifle like lightning to his shoulder, fired full at the pursuer.

CHAPTER V.

RODNEY was a little further in from the mouth of the cave than I, when we heard that mournful wail, far off in the night and storm.

As I was saying, just before I left off recounting our own adventures, I sprang up at once, and hastily prepared for a plunge into the outer darkness. Not perfect darkness, indeed, but late twilight.

Our cave-refuge was an exceedingly cosey little spot just then, and we both hated to leave it. The firelight played brightly on the walls, and the temperature of the air was already much higher than that of the out-of-doors world.

I was sure the noise we had heard was no other than the cry of a woman or girl, and in distress, too, as a woman must be, on the lake on a day like that.

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Rod, after a moment, in which we listened keenly, “it’s an owl, or” —

“Oh-h-h, help!”

There was no doubt about it this time, at any rate.

“Give me the hatchet, Will,” shouted Rod, with energy, “and throw a stick or two on the fire, to keep it going. I’ll have my coat on again in half a minute. Got your pistol loaded?” he added, a moment after, as we prepared to leave our comfortable quarters.

“Yes, five barrels. Though I don’t see what’s the use of it. The woman’s simply lost, I suppose—unless it’s another bear!”

“And what on earth,” puffed Rod, clambering out over the brush ahead of me, “she’s doing on the middle of Umbagog in an awful winter storm, is more’n I can see.”

We couldn’t talk much, I can tell you, as we felt our way down over the rocks toward the level of the lake. Sliding, bumping, tumbling, we managed to get down somehow.

There was light enough left for us to keep on our bearings, and not break our necks in the descent. The worst result of the scramble was that I had given my ankle a twist that threatened to make trouble, though it didn’t hurt me much then.

I was trembling all over with excitement, and once, when I touched Rodney’s hand, I found that he was, too.

“Let’s holler,” said I, on reaching the bottom of the ledge.

The wind was making a tremendous noise in the cedars, but we gave a sort of combined howl and shriek, with an Indian war-whoop attachment, that ought to have been heard half a mile at least. At the same time, I discharged one barrel of my revolver.

“That’ll fetch her, I guess,” said Rod. “Now hark!”

Sure enough, there was a return cry; whether answering ours or not we could not tell.

It gave us the direction, and, hand-in-hand, we started forward again, and once more were out on the desolate ice-plain over which we had wandered all day.

“Do you suppose we can find the way back?” I asked, presently.

“I think so. I noticed the trees and rocks particularly, and the wind is blowing pretty steadily now; so we can be guided some by that. There, we’re getting nearer. Hear her?”

We shouted loudly in answer to the oft-repeated call, and, after a short struggle with the deepening drifts, were rewarded by the discovery of a dark object, half-covered with snow, just ahead.

We sprang forward together.

The form rose to its feet, and staggered up to us, with hands outstretched.

“Oh! save me, save me,” she cried, piteously, and would have fallen, had we not caught her.

It was a young girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, judging from her height, her voice, and the thick braid of long, brown hair that found its way out from under a little, tight-fitting knit hood and fell over her shoulders.

She had on a cloak of some rough, but nice material, dark gray or brown; her face was nearly as white as the snow about us. That was all we could tell.

Boy-like, we came to the point at once.

“What’s the matter?” we both asked eagerly. “Are you alone—lost—any other danger?”

The girl gave a terrified look over her shoulder, and half-whispered:

“They have gone, I hope.”

“Who?”

We were thoroughly puzzled, but had begun, one on each side, to lead her toward the shore.

“Those men—the men that tried to rob us.”

It was our turn now to begin to look over our shoulders.

Rod glanced at me behind the girl’s drooping head, and managed to give me a meaning dig with his fist.

I understood, and nodded.

The pistol was ready; I confess I was not. I wished I was in Boston, or anywhere but in that dismal country.

“Tell us about it,” said Rodney more calmly, glancing toward the shore.

We had to move very slowly, and rest often. The poor girl was nearly exhausted, we found, and fully ten minutes were consumed, I should think, in getting over the first quarter of the way back.

Meanwhile, she managed to give us an idea of what had brought her out upon Umbagog at that hour.

Her name, she said, was Mabel Armstrong. She was the only daughter of a wealthy lumber merchant, it appeared, who owned the timber of vast tracts of country about us. We recognized his name, having heard it spoken more than once on the way up from Bethel.

Large gangs of men were at work for him all through the logging districts cutting timber, and preparing it to be “driven” down stream in the spring to the mills.

In the course of the winter Mr. Armstrong usually found it advisable to make a personal tour of his property, and see that everything was going forward well. He stopped at various hotels on the way, and often spent several nights with the loggers, in camp.

As the time for his annual visit drew near, in the present season, his daughter Mabel begged to be allowed to accompany him.

“Papa is so lonely sometimes,” she said, “since mamma died. I don’t like to have him go off alone.”

“But didn’t you know, Miss Armstrong, what a rough place you were coming to?” I asked, as we were resting a moment, with our backs to the wind.

She shuddered, and I felt her little hand tremble on my arm.

“Indeed I did not,” she said, looking nervously about her again.

We wished she would come to the point, and tell us what she was afraid of. In fact, we were getting a little uneasy ourselves. But it would not do to hurry her. So we waited patiently, and edged along toward the shore, protecting her from the biting blasts of wind as best we could.

“It was all so pretty and nice—the journey, I mean,” she continued, “till we reached Bethel. At the hotel there we saw two bad-looking men lounging about on the piazza: I caught them looking sharply at papa a number of times, and once the taller of the two nudged the other when I took out my watch to see what time it was. I told papa, but he only laughed.

“The hotel keeper went out and ordered the men off. They were half-breeds, he said, on their way to Canada. They had been discharged from one of the logging camps for drunkenness, and were now out of work.”

She stopped for a moment, and as she did so I was sure I saw a dark form glide across our path in front. It was now so near nightfall that, in the whirling drifts of snow, I might be easily mistaken, and I found it easy to convince myself it had been but fancy. I had not yet heard the rest of her story.

“We left Bethel the next morning. Papa had to see some people in Newry, so we spent the night there. This morning we found it snowing hard, but the sleighing wasn’t very bad, and papa was anxious to get to Errol—near the west shore of the lake, you know—to-night. So we drove on, and reached that little clump of houses at the head of the lake.”

“Upton,” we both said, in a breath.

“Yes. We stopped for dinner at the Lake House. The people there told us it was foolish to try to go further; but papa knew the way so well, and it was only a few miles. He said we could drive right across the lake, and so strike the road again, saving a mile hill and a long distance besides. I was afraid, but he would go. About half an hour before we started from the hotel I saw a face pressed against the pane, through the snow. I knew it in an instant.

“Who was it? Would we ever reach the shore? The half-breed who had looked at my watch with such greedy eyes. At the same moment I remembered, like a flash, that the camp he was sent away from in disgrace was one of papa’s, so there was hate, probably added to love of gold, to make him and his comrade enemies.

“I told papa, and he ran to the window. Nobody was to be seen. Papa looked a little vexed, and said it was my imagination, and that he almost wished he had left me at home. I knew I was not mistaken.

“Well, we started finally, and followed the river where logging teams had been before.” “We drove over it yesterday,” observed Rod. “It was pretty well beaten down.”

“Yes; we followed that till we came out into the lake. Then papa, I really think, saw that he had been wrong to start in such weather; but he still kept on. The horse had to walk very slowly through the drifts. The wind almost blew the sleigh over two or three times. It wasn’t long before we stopped entirely. I saw papa look this way and that, and then I knew we were lost in the ice and snow.” She gave a sort of sob at the recollection, and seemed ready to sink on the ice; but we held her up, and encouraged her to go on.

“I was crouching under my buffalo robes, when I saw papa suddenly half-rise, and strike heavily at something near the horse’s head. At the same time a man’s voice, strange and hoarse, spoke in my ear:

“‘ Gimme watch, quick! Hear? All money, too!’

“I did not need to look at the swarthy face, and dark, gleaming eyes, to recognize the Canadian. The other of the two had the horse by the bridle.

“My father’s whip-lash fell across the villain’s head and shoulders, and to protect himself he let go the bridle and put up his arm. The startled horse gave a bound forward, and my heart beat quick with joy, for the men were left behind in a moment.

“What was my horror, the next instant, to see the horse slip on the ice and fall. I was thrown violently out by the shock. The men, not noticing, in the flying snow and the dim light—for it was now late in the afternoon—- that I had fallen out, both rushed up to my father’s side.

“I saw the sleigh right itself, for papa had kept the reins all the time; there was a shot fired by somebody, the horse struggled to his feet, and, frantic with fear, tore off at a full gallop, bearing my father—whether living or dead I cannot tell—and the men after him. As they all vanished in the dark mist of snow I suppose I fainted. •

“It must have been half an hour later when I was roused by a voice that drove the blood from my heart again. It was the same man, not ten feet away. I lay perfectly still in the drift where I had fallen, and was so covered with snow that they did not see me. It was long before I dared to move. Then I found I could not stand. I hardly knew what I did—it was foolish—but I—I was so tired, and I thought I was going to die. I cried as loud as I could for help.”

“That was what we heard,” added Rodney, wrapping the cloak more tightly round the girl.

She had told us her story brokenly—I wish you could hear it as we did, with the roar of the storm in the pauses.

“Yes,” said Mabel simply; “then you came and saved me.”

“But, Rod,” I broke in, “I don’t see but those fellows must be somewhere around here now. We may run into them any time.”

And I told what I had seen, or fancied I saw, a few minutes before.

“We’d better move as fast as possible,” said Rod. “I should judge by the sound of the wind in the trees that we must be pretty near”—

He never finished that sentence. Something more terrible to us just then than even the mournful tumult of the storm fell upon our ears. It was a human voice speaking in broken French, mingled with strange oaths.

We halted abruptly, but before we could turn about two figures came into view jdst ahead.

They caught sight of us at the same moment, and started forward, but stopped suddenly when they saw something gleam in my hand.

“You give us money—all you got—and watch—and we let you go,” said the nearest, in what he meant to be a propitiatory tone, at the same time falling back a pace or two.

I had the revolver, full cocked, leveled straight at his head.

Rod placed himself in front of our trembling charge, and answered calmly:

“We shall do nothing of the kind. If you come nearer you’ll be shot.”

If you’ll believe me, the man actually showed his white teeth, much as the bear had done the day before.

“I—vill—settle—you,” he said slowly, between his set teeth, without moving.

The next moment the unpleasant fact forced itself upon me that the fellow was standing alone; his comrade had quietly dropped back in the obscurity, and was no longer to be seen.

It was evidently a ruse, and a sharp one. From what side the second rascal might leap upon us we did not know. I saw, without turning my head, that Rodney was watching intently for an attack.

Suddenly he turned completely about, leaving the girl’s side as he did so, and sprang toward a figure that was stealing upon us from the rear.

What would have been the result I cannot tell, had Rodney reached him; but in his eagerness the boy tripped on a ridge of ice and went down.

He was up again in a moment, saw that the man had the advantage of him, and ran. The scoundrel was almost upon him, with a stake or club brandished in the air.

I swung round, and fired all the charges of my pistol blindly, for it was now impossible to see with any distinctness more than half a dozen yards.

When the last barrel was emptied I gave up poor Rodney for lost. What were we two slight boys in a hand-to-hand fight with these men?

As my pistol flashed for the last time, what was my astonishment to hear an explosion that sounded, in comparison, like the roar of a cannon. The man in front of me, who had started toward us, sure of his booty, turned and took to his heels like a deer.

Mabel Armstrong clung to my arm in a way that would have made me powerless to defend her. But there was no need, for presently two figures, familiar and dear to me, came wading back through the drifts. It was Rodney and Dick, the latter carrying the smoking rifle over his shoulder.

I reached out my disengaged arm, and fairly hugged him.

DO

“How in the world did you get here, old fellow?” I asked, utterly bewildered by the swift sequence of startling events. “And what has become of the enemy? Have you”—

I couldn’t finish the sentence, for the idea of killing a human being, even in defense of life, was too dreadful.

“No, no,” interposed Rodney quickly, “don’t be afraid, Will. He only hit his ‘ sword arm,’ so that he dropped his club. Lucky Dick learned to aim and fire handily at the old Latin School.”

“I don’t even know that I hit him at all,” added Dick; “but I gave him an awful scare. How he did run.”

Just then he spied the addition to our party, and stopped with comic abruptness, giving me an inquisitive poke with his elbow.

Thereupon I presented him and Miss Armstrong to each other. I certainly never performed an introduction under stranger circumstances.

“Happy to meet you,” said Dick, rather bashfully. “Pretty cold, isn’t it?” Which was mild, considering that we were nearly frozen, standing in the midst of a snow hurricane at night in a wilderness, with the thermometer below zero.

Mabel was too tired to say much of anything, and we all four trudged along toward the shore, keeping a sharp lookout as we walked.

Rodney assumed the character of guide, and we left the direction of the party entirely to him, conversing meantime in low tones. Dick told us the substance of what I have already narrated in the last chapter.

We were somewhat concerned about poor Ned, and were exceedingly sorry for the anxiety we knew he was feeling just then. But it couldn’t be helped, and we were too thankful for our recent escape to think of much else.

“Your father, Miss Armstrong,” said Rodney, “is probably perfectly safe to-night, though, no doubt, he is suffering at the thought of you.”

“Do you suppose he will look for me?” she asked, with trembling lips.

“I do not think so—to-night, I mean. He could hardly have reached settlements before dark, and probably has camped somewhere with his horse. He’ll get along till morning, and by noon he’ll hdve a dozen men scouring the lake for you.”

She seemed contented at this, and asked no more questions.

“Where in the world are you going?” inquired Dick, at length, as he floundered through a huge drift. “There’s the shore right ahead, but it looks like high rocks. No place there for a camp.”

“Hooray!” I shouted, under my breath, giving Dick a clap on the shoulder that staggered him. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, and Rod has made no mistake. There is a place for a camp there, as you will see.”

Oh! what hard work it was getting up over those bowlders and ledges. Mabel was nearly helpless, and Dick had to keep tight hold of his gun, upon which we relied in case of siege. But we managed it somehow.

Rodney was very patient with poor little Mabel, and helped her as gently and efficiently as he would a sister. It was plain, too, that she trusted him like a child.

We had meant to enter our camp with dignity, and it was aggravating to lose our bearings and tumble into camp again, which we did—both Rodney and I—almost exactly as we did the first time.

Fortunately Dick was holding the girl’s hand at the time, and being behind us, was able to save her from following us into the hole. As it was, they were.both a good deal startled, I think, to judge from their voices when they called to us.

“All right,” said Rodney, in low tones. “Come round this way, Dick. Now, Miss Mabel, step down —so; that’s it. Come on, Dick.”

And there we were, all four, in the cozy cave once more, with the doorway well barricaded, and the storm only a memory.

I threw some dry sticks on the glowing embers, and the flames sprung up merrily, casting their cheery light on the walls, and the pale faces of the party.

We shook off the snow in the “front hall,” as Dick called it, and prepared for supper.

Mabel had sunk down upon a platform of rock, and was gazing silently into the bright flames.

I had turned away for a minute, to deposit the rifle in a safe cranny, when a low exclamation from Rod, at my side, caused me to turn.

An expression I didn’t like had come into his face. It was a look of apprehension, of perplexity, of—yes, of fear.

“Will,” he whispered, “don’t put the rifle away yet; the fish are gone.”

“And that means”—

“That somebody has been here—perhaps,” glancing into the shadows at the lower and unexplored portion of the cave—“perhaps is here now.”

As the words were on his lips Dick crossed over to us, with a face as disturbed as our own.

“Don’t say anything to the girl,” he said, in low tones, “but there’s something outside. Two or three sticks snapped just now, and I’m certain I heard steps.”

We moved carelessly toward the entrance, so as not to frighten Mabel, and listened.

There was no doubt about the correctness of Dick’s report. Steps there were, soft and stealthy, on the snow near the opening which led to our cave.

CHAPTER VI.

WHEN we heard the footsteps outside our refuge, we were thoroughly alarmed. It was now nearly eight o’clock, and if the two Canadians had persevered thus far in the search, they would hardly leave us until they had taken revenge for their warm reception on the lake.

Rodney winked at Dick and*me, and nodded toward Mabel. We understood, and did not express our fears.

She looked up innocently, and asked us if we weren’t cold, all standing there in the draught.

Rod gave a careless laugh and said we’d been out in too rough weather to care for a puff of wind. He moved away, however, touching me on the arm as he did so, but leaving Dick on guard.

“I’m going to take a look at the bedrooms in the east wing,” he said, as he quietly took a blazing brand from the fire, and advanced toward the lower end of the cave.

I was at his side, with my hand on my revolver in my pocket.

It was a moment of suspense. Rod held the torch above his head, so as to illuminate floor and ceiling. We both started, then gave a loud laugh of relief. There in the farthest corner was our stolen pickerel, or what remained of it; and crouching beside it, the thief.

It was no other than a mink, stretched flat along the rocky floor, his bright eyes intent upon us, his form absolutely motionless.

As Rod advanced a step, the sleek little animal made a sudden rush, dived between our legs, and in a twinkling was out of the cave, fish and all.

He gave Mabel a fright, and Dick’s face was comical to see, so round were his eyes as the mink dashed past him.

The incident relieved us all, though the steps outside were not yet accounted for. One thing was sure, and that was a comfort; there was no enemy concealed in camp, nor any opening to the cave save that by which we had entered, otherwise the mink would have found it. If we were to be attacked, it could only be through the front door, now blocked and barricaded with boughs. We piled several large stones also across the mouth, as an additional barrier.

Mabel looked up nervously at this operation, and asked why we did it.

“Oh! it’ll keep off the wind,” said Rod, and she was quite satisfied.

We could see, as her wet cloak was removed and the firelight shone upon her face, that she was very pretty, though just now there was a pitiful anxiety and mute appeal in her pale features and large, brown eyes, that made a lump come in my throat as I turned away and busied myself about supper.

Nearly half of the morning’s lunch was still in our pockets, in addition to the frozen bear-steaks and the larger of the two pickerel. My plan for melting water worked to a charm, the little rocky basin being kept at a proper temperature by renewed supplies of snow.

Occasionally we sauntered up to the barricade and listened. There was a slight bend in the passage-way, so that we were still further protected from intruders; we did not believe it possible that any one could let himself down into our “storm entry” and get round the angle of the rocks, among all those dry twigs, without our knowing it.

As we heard no more footsteps, we tried to believe the whole thing had been a freak of imagination; that the noise had been but the rubbing of boughs against the rocks, or the sudden gusts of wind among the displaced undergrowth. In our hearts, each of us knew better. We had heard footfalls, and we knew it.

By the time the steak was hissing and smoking on the coals, our guest’s face began to lose its strained expression, and she was willing to take a more cheerful view of things.

“That looks delicious!” she exclaimed, leaning forward to watch Dick, who presided gracefully at the gridiron.

Oh! didn’t I tell you how that was made?

A small, green fir bough was cut off and trimmed, leaving three shoots branching from nearly the same point; on these was laid the steak, the gridiron being held by the ends of the three branches, gathered in Dick’s hand. The twigs were peeled white.

“I guess it’s about time to turn it?” remarked the cook, looking askance at Mabel.

The girl gave a merry little laugh which delighted our hearts. It was the first time she had even smiled.

She had not forgotten her father, I suppose, but being comfortable herself, could more easily imagine that he was also.

“Of course, Dick,” she said.

(We had all got to calling one another by our first names, as if we had been acquainted for years. We had told her at once who we were and where we lived.)

Dick looked as if he would prefer to do the turning without spectators.

“I’m afraid it will flop off,” he said. “Here, Will, spear it with that stick, please, and tip it over while I hold it off one side.”

I endeavored to do as I was told, but the meat was tough, and moreover it stuck to the bars of the gridiron.

“Don’t jab it so,” sung out Rod. “Do it calmly—not as if you were harpooning a whale— Halloo! now you’ve done it.”

For, to Mabel’s irrepressible amusement, the slice of steak collapsed without the slightest warning, shut itself up like a pocket-book, and dropped through the gridiron into the fire.

There was a general shout at this, and everybody rushed to the rescue.

The scorching the meat received did not seem to harm it much—in our estimation, at least— and the preparation of the supper proceeded to a triumphant conclusion.

In order to keep her mind off her troubles, Mabel was requested to set the table.

She cleared away the moss and dry leaves from the surface of a flat rock near the fire, and disposed upon it, as tastefully as the nature of broken doughnuts and corn-bread would permit, the viands at her disposal.

The great, smoking bear-steak was then solemnly deposited in the center (we boys having taken turns in brushing off the ashes when Mabel wasn’t looking), and Rod carved it with his jack-knife.

I used my own pocket-knife, while Dick lent his to his fair guest and proceeded with great gravity to cut his meat up with the hatchet.

“If it wasn’t for worrying about papa,” said Mabel Armstrong, “I should think this the greatest fun in the world.”

I caught Rod’s eye, but said nothing. You will remember that she had neither seen nor heard anything to disturb her—except the mink— since her last glimpse of the half-breeds, scampering off at full speed on the ice.

“I wouldn’t think about that,” observed Rodney. “From what you say, he must be a strong man, well able to take care of himself.”

“If we boys could stand it all day long,” added Dick, working at the steak industriously with his hatchet, “your father will get through the night somehow, and to-morrow we’ll all hunt each other up.”

“Did you say there was one more in your party?” asked Mabel. “Where is he now?”

“Over’n Camp Vagabond, playing hermit. Poor Ned! he’ll have a hard night of it.”

“I’m glad I chopped up a good supply of wood,” said Dick. “He can keep a fire going all night if he wants to.”

“Where is your camp?”

“Haven’t the least idea,” I answered. “Somewhere on the other side of the lake. If it’ll only clear off to-night, we can find it easily enough to-morrow. Ned will make a big smoke—see if he don’t—for a signal.”

^Tor my own part, I should have felt extremely comfortable but for two circumstances. First, I had a constant sensation, which I could not shake off, of being watched. Again and again I glanced toward the barricaded mouth of the cave, expecting to meet a pair of dark eyes fastened upon mine.

That I found no one there, did not, strange to say, afford me any relief. The feeling simply grew upon me, together with a fascination which impelled me to keep my eyes on that breastwork of stones and brush.

My other disquieting influence was my ankle, which began to give such sharp twinges of pain that Dick caught me making a wry face, and wanted to know if I was practicing for a bear fight, on his own tactics.

Supper being ended, we began to make arrangements for the night. On one side of the cave, near the fire, was a sort of indentation, perhaps four or five feet deep, produced by the irregular piling of the bowlders on one another. It was a little above the main floor, and, like the rest, had its carpeting of dried moss, with an overlay of cedar, fir and spruce needles.

Here Rodney made a soft and fragrant couch of short fir boughs, which we had thrown in when we first entered in the afternoon. Mabel’s cloak was then stretched across the opening, so as to form a little room of her own, hardly larger than one of the saloon berths on a coastwise steamer.

‘‘Oh! how cosey,” she cried, trying the boughs to see how soft they were. “And it smells so delicious and woodsy.”

We offered her our overcoats, which had been thoroughly dried; but she would not accept them. The cloak was so arranged as not quite to cut off the heat of the fire on that side, and the whole place was really very warm and comfortable.

“Good-night, boys!” said Mabel, nodding gaily over her screen. “Thank you for being so good to me. Wake me up if any bears come.”

We promised, and wished her pleasant dreams in chorus. I think she must have gone to sleep almost immediately, she was so exhausted.

For a while we were all silent, not wishing to disturb her.

The moment we ceased to talk I felt the same creeping sensation steal over me, of being watched by eyes that were not friendly. I tried again to throw it off, as the effect of overstrained nerves, and joined in the low conversation which presently began between Dick and Rodney. There were details of the day’s adventure to be given and plans to be made.

“It seems to me,” said Rodney, “that as soon as we can finish a good breakfast in the morning we had better make a push for camp.”

“But what’s the use? We should only get lost again, and now we have Mabel to take care of.”

“Oh! I mean if the storm lightens, as I believe it will. Hark! the wind doesn’t roar so loud now.”

We listened; but I didn’t like the silence, and spoke again hastily.

“I suppose Mr. Armstrong will be out with a gang of men—perhaps he is now.”

“If he isn’t hurt too badly,” added Rod, still further lowering his voice and glancing toward the cloak.

“There must be some logging camp not very far from here.”

“That depends on what part of the woods we’re in. You know the Middle Dam is only four or five miles from the head of the lake, up Rapid River.”

“Yes; but it would take all day to get there without snow-shoes.”

“It would take me a good deal more than a day,” I said. “Fellows, my ankle aches awfully. I don’t believe I can walk a step to-morrow.”

Rodney looked anxious, and Dick gave a prolonged “Wh-e-ew!”

“You may have to let me stay here,” I continued, “and take Mabel with you. You can send help from the nearest house or camp.”

“And leave you meanwhile to those murderous half-breeds? Not much!” exclaimed Rodney, warmly. “Well, it’s of no use to talk about what we’ll do until we see what the weather is in the morning. We can stand one more day’s siege, at any rate. Fuel is plenty, and we’ve got one pickerel and a good slice of bear-meat left yet.”

“Now, Dick,” said I, “you and Rod roll up here by the fire and go to sleep. My foot aches so I can’t sleep anyhow; so I might as well take the first watch.”

The boys objected generously to this, but it really was the most sensible plan; and before long they were stretched out at full length, breathing regularly. Poor fellows; they were so tired that they dropped to sleep almost instantly.

I tucked their overcoats around them, stirred up the fire softly, and, taking as comfortable position as my sprained foot would allow, settled myself on the opposite side of the cave as sentry.

At first my attention was confined to the fire and shadows that came and went on the rocky walls, at the flicker of its red flames; the dull monotone of the storm without; the steady breathing of my two comrades; the tip of one pathetic little boot, stretched out from behind the cloak, toward the fire.

Then my thoughts took a wider range. I pictured the scene out of doors, where night and tempest had their will. I fancied myself high in air, looking down on this one snug little camp, glowing with warmth and light and human hearts. I saw the boughs of the forest tossing-dimly in the tumultuous sweep of the north wind, the snow-wreaths flying like ghosts through the darkness, moaning as they went; the far, fai>reaching expanse of the lake, frozen dead, with its awful secrets bubbling up through its black waters and gaping ice-clefts, to the black sky.

Hark!

I cannot tell whether I had been dozing or not. In the flash of an instant I was as wide awake as I am at this moment, with every sense on the alert.

The fire had burned low, and the air in the cave had grown chilly. Little puffs of icy wind seemed to have found their way into our retreat, and the boys stirred uneasily in their sleep as they dreamed of plunging into a deeper and colder drift. The light was so dim that it was only when the blaze occasionally flickered up from one burning brand, that I could distinguish my surroundings with any clearness.

What had startled me into this intense consciousness, this waiting for something, I knew not.

I had a vague impression of a sudden noise from outside, but whether it had been in a dream, or merely caused by a movement of the sleepers, I could not tell.

At the same time I was more terrified than I had ever been before in my life. The very absence of any appearance of a hostile influence made the silence seem more awful.

I was sure something was near, something frightful would happen in a moment. I should discover something to chill my blood in my veins, as soon as my eyes became accustomed to the obscurity.

Nor was I mistaken.

CHAPTER VII.

REMEMBER that all this time—which was in reality only a few seconds, I suppose—I had remained absolutely motionless. I never stirred from my sitting position near the fire, my head a little in the shadow from a projecting point of rock.

A slight rustle from the mouth of the cave caught my ear, and I knew that what I had been waiting for all that dreary evening had come at last.

I fastened my eyes on the green boughs that were piled in over the low barricade of stones. One of the twigs was quivering and waving in a strange way. At first I thought it was the wind, but the movements were too abrupt for that.

I now saw that several small branches had been pulled away, admitting the chilly drafts which had disturbed me. As I gazed at the boughs, an object intruded itself among their green tufts, slowly working its way through into the cave.

It was a hand—a man’s hand, with long, dark fingers, on one of which was a thick gold ring. I remember the picture of that cautiously-groping left hand, with its gleaming ring and its setting of dark-green fir, as if it were photographed and lay before me now.

It may seem strange, but* the moment I made out the character of the object that had so startled me, my fears vanished. I had so peopled my surroundings with vague terrors, that the sight of an actual human being, or a part of him, even though he were an enemy, was a relief.

A hundred plans rushed through my mind as I sat there, with eyes nearly closed, watching the hand and arm that slowly entered, pushing the boughs softly to right and left.

I had hoped it might prove Mabel’s father, or—but that I knew was well-nigh an impossibility —our dear old Ned. But a careful scrutiny, even in that dim light, disproved both theories.

No, it was the hand neither of a boy, nor a gentleman of in-door life like Mr. Armstrong. It was very large, roughly shaped, and, as I said, almost as dark as a mulatto’s. The ring, which looked like a showy, cheap affair such as sailors often wear, indicated a foreign love for gewgaws.

Taking the day’s adventures into account, there could be but one solution of the mystery. Beyond a doubt one of the Canadians was crouching within eight feet of me, and engaged in entering the cave.

I was right. It was not two minutes before a swarthy face appeared in the opening. Then the whole head and a pair of broad shoulders. I recognized the man as the second of our assailants; the one who had pursued Rodney.

It now seemed time to act. The rifle was leaning against the wall, about half-way from my position to the door. Toward that the half-breed’s eyes were directed. I thought I detected a gleam of triumph in his ugly face as he caught sight of the piece. I was sorry to disturb Mabel, but I couldn’t help it.

With a shout to Rodney, I made a sudden leap toward the gun, seized, cocked and leveled it at the intruder almost with one motion. Like Dick, I had learned at the Latin School to handle a light musket as a lady does her crochet needles.

“Stop!” I cried, savagely. “Don’t move an inch, you scoundrel, or I’ll fire.”

I heard a slight scream from Mabel, but did not take my eyes from the face in the fir-boughs.

Dick and Rodney sprang to their feet, and took in the situation in a glance.

“Let him have it if he tries to escape, Will!” cried the latter. “Here, Dick, take this cord! ” drawing a piece of stout twine from his pocket.

He rushed to the opening, and tore away the boughs from around the crouching Canadian, whose right arm, we then perceived, hung helplessly at his side.

Boys have tender hearts, and the sight gave me a first twinge of pity.

By this time Dick had bade Mabel be quiet, as there was no danger, and had thrown a lot of light twigs on the fire, so that it blazed up until within the cave it was as light as day.

As I had expected, it was evident that the Canadian was alone. He had not yet said a word. Now his lips moved, and he spoke with some difficulty, I thought.

“No hurt,” he said. “You have fire; me ver’ cold.”

He was shivering from head to foot, and his face was ghastly enough.

“Where’s the other man?” asked Rodney, suspiciously.

“Don’t know. I lose him somevere.”

Rodney now removed the brush entirely from around the fellow, and cautioning Dick and me to keep our eyes on him, stepped outside and beyond, revolver in hand.

We heard him climbing the walls of the cavity into which we had tumbled. No one spoke until he appeared again in the opening.

“He’s told the truth for once, I guess,” remarked Rodney. “There’s no one about here, and we should have heard them speak when this chap was walking around up there, early in the evening.”

The man’s eyes gleamed a moment as Rod spoke. Then exhaustion and cold seemed to overcome him again.

Rodney entered, and with our faces still to the front, and the rifle-barrel pointed at the Canadian, we consulted in low tones.

The result of the conference, wise or unwise as the sequence of events would show, was that our leader stepped forward and addressed the man once more.

“You may come in,” he said, quietly, “and get warm. And we will give you something to eat.”

I could not help thinking of ASsop’s fable of the viper; but there seemed nothing else to do. We could not turn the man away, to freeze to death in that fearful night.

“T’ank, t’ank!” he muttered, feebly; then tried to raise himself with his one well arm, groaned, leaned forward and fell heavily at our feet.

CHAPTER VIII.

TO say that we were dismayed when the half-breed lurched forward over our barricade and pitched headforemost into the cave, would be a mild way of putting it.

Not understanding the movement, we stood on guard, each boy grasping his weapon. Dick had the hatchet, and Rod and I the fire-arms.

Our late enemy lay perfectly still, however, on the rocky floor, where he had fallen all in a heap.

As we were standing there, a little puzzled what to do next, there was a soft rustle of garments, and Mabel glided between us to the man’s side. With a little, womanly cry of pity, she crouched beside him, and then looked up over her shoulder at us.

“Poor fellow!” she said, “he’s almost frozen . to death. His hands are like ice, and—oh-h! ” She laid gently down the arm she had raised, and covered her face with her hands. The stained sleeve and wrist had told their own story.

“I couldn’t help it, Mabel,” protested Dick, kneeling beside her and commencing to remove the man’s coat. “I had to fire, out on the lake, to save Rod’s life. He was lucky to get off with only an arm hit.”

“1 know it, I know it!” said the girl, shuddering. “You did right. But it’s so dreadful— just like the stories of war.”

“I guess you’d better go back to bed,” said Rodney, gently. “We’ll take care of this man. He’s only fainted from exhaustion and cold. We must bandage his arm as well as we can, and you’d better not”—

“Yes, I shall stay and help,” said Mabel, with decision. “It was only a little weak feeling that I had when I found he was hurt.” “Perhaps he will tell us something of your father’s whereabouts when he comes to,” I suggested.

We all worked away at the man, rubbing his well hand and his feet, until he began to show signs of life. Mabel had a little vinaigrette in her pocket, and we gave him a sniff of that, which would have floored one of us.

“I thought that would wake him some,” said Dick, grimly, as a gasp and slight convulsion of the limbs came from the prostrate form.

In a few minutes he opened his eyes, and looked about him with a bewildered air, then sat up and gazed blankly at us. Dick had meanwhile broiled a small piece of bear-steak, and this was placed before our famished prisoner, or guest, we hardly knew which to consider him.

He ate eagerly, like a hungry animal, biting off great pieces of meat, and devouring them almost whole. A special reservoir of snowwater had been melted for him, and he drank as if water had not passed his lips for days.

We sat around and watched him in silence, keeping a wary eye on our weapons. I forgot to say that Rodney had searched his pockets while he was insensible, and found nothing harmful—not even a jack-knife.

By degrees the Canadian began to talk in his rude French patois. He assured Mabel that her father had not been harmed, but had escaped to .the upper end of the lake with his horse and sleigh.. His own name, he said, was Francois. He placed his hand on his heart, and averred stoutly that he had never wished to harm either the girl or us, but that Ranouf, his companion, had urged him on to the robbery. He really seemed to feel very thankful for our treatment of him ; but when Mabel assisted with her own hands in bathing and bandaging his wounded arm, his gratitude knew no bounds, and he devoted himself to her service, in finding her father and assisting her to leave the wilderness.

“Where was Ranouf?” we naturally asked.

Francois scowled savagely.

“I do not know; he leave me ven I vas hurt. Btie!”

His anger was evidently sincere, and we felt pretty sure that if we were troubled by any attentions from Ranouf, his former mate would take our part.

By the time his hunger had been appeased, it was two o’clock.

The half-breed asked permission, which was given, to lie down by the fire.

Rodney now insisted on taking his turn as sentry. Mabel retired to her niche in the wall, Dick curled up, with his head against my shoulder, and I—I must have gone to sleep, in spite of my aching ankle, almost the moment I laid my head on the mossy rock that served for a pillow.

I have a dreamy recollection of seeing figures walk to and fro between me and the fire during the rest of the night; but when I fairly awoke, it was broad daylight.

Mabel was stepping daintily back and forth with preparations for our scanty breakfast; Rodney was asleep in her place, from before which the cloak had now been removed. Dick was dressing the pickerel just outside the barricade. The half-breed was nowhere to be seen.

T stretched stiffly, suppressed a yawn for Rodney’s sake, and staggered to my feet.

I must have presented rather a disheveled and stupid appearance, for Mabel looked amused as she whispered a pleasant good-morning. She herself was as fresh and tidy as if she had just stepped from her own room at home.

Now that it was daylight, I found her face and manner more winning than ever, and did not blame Rodney in the least for his care-taking of her the night before.

“Where’s Francois?” I asked, in low tones. “He’s gone out to look at the weather,” answered Dick. “Now we can tell how much in earnest he is about liking us. He wanted to take the rifle to kill some game, but I didn’t dare to let him.”

“How’s his arm this morning?”

“Oh! ever so much easier, he says. It’s nothing but a flesh wound. He’ll be all right in a week, and swing an axe as well as ever.”

“Did he say how long he had been at the entrance when we saw him last night?”

“Yes; he separated from his chum right after the fight. They had high words, I think, and pretty near or quite came to blows He has a black-and-blue spot on his cheek that doesn’t improve his beauty.”

“Well, did he follow us?”

“He heard us talking, soon afterward, on our way to the shore, so he easily found the cave after we had got in. He walked around a bit—don’t you remember, just before we saw the mink?— and pretty soon got down into the opening. He must have waited there and watched us for nearly two hours. He was afraid to show himself, he says; and he only wanted to get a piece of meat, as he had eaten nothing since he left Upton.”

“He wanted more than that, Dick. He was reaching for the rifle when I gave that shout.” “ Well, perhaps he did; or perhaps he only wanted to make sure we wouldn’t up and fire at him, if he was caught. He’s meek enough this morning, and follows me round like a dog.” “Here he comes how.”

The Canadian entered, and ducked his head to me.

“Mauvais temps!” (bad weather) he said.

“Can we go on to-day, Francis?”

“I t’ink, ya-as,” replied the man, with a funny drawl, as he tried to speak his best English.

Seeing Dick at work on the pickerel, he watched him some moments in grave silence. Then, as if he could endure no longer to see such a fine fish handled by an amateur, he broke out:

“Give me. I show you how cook’im.”

Dick yielded fish and gridiron rather sheepishly, and the other proceeded deftly to add a few touches to the dressing, which had been hastily done; then took his place by the fire, over the glowing coals of which, raked a little to one side, the pickerel was soon broiling and sputtering in a most appetizing fashion.

The rest of the meat was saved, in case we should be obliged to spend another night in the cave—a possibility which all of us were exceedingly loath to contemplate.

Our breakfast was rather a merry one, though we could not help being anxious for the future. The sound of voices had waked Rod, and he was as thoughtful and regardful of Mabel’s wants as ever.

After the meal was over, he and the half-breed went out together, to determine what movement the weather would allow.

On his return, Rod reported that the storm was still raging, though not so furiously as on the day before. The wind was high, and the snow falling fast, but they could see a greater distance than yesterday.

There were signs, said Francis, of clearing* The snow, of course, was deeper than ever.

We built up the fire, and all five held a sober council around it. Rodney described the general vicinity of Camp Vagabond, and the route we had taken to reach it.

The Canadian listened attentively, and said he knew it perfectly. It was only about five miles distant, directly across the lake.

Should we start or not? Allowing for the deep snow, and necessary detours around airholes and long cracks in the ice, we might reach camp in about three hours.

Once there, we should be well provisioned and clothed for a week’s imprisonment; our quarters were comfortable, and could be made more so; and in four days the Upton teamster would hunt us up if the roads and lake were passable. Of course, there would be the extra labor of the crossing, the risk of meeting Ranouf, and of being once more lost on Umbagog.

I, for one, dreaded the journey exceedingly, as my ankle was swollen to twice its natural size, and it made me wince to touch it ever so lightly.

On the other hand, we longed to get away from the cave. It had proved a safe port, and had sheltered us well; but nobody wanted to repeat that night of terror, cooped up in walls of stone, with the constant fear of something peering in at the mouth of it.

The rocks were awfully hard, too, and we boys remembered our comfortable beds in the old camp.

Well, all sides were fairly discussed, and we decided to go.

Francis took a good look at my ankle, bandaged it skillfully, as well as he could with one hand, and calling Dick to come along with his hatchet, went out of doors once more.

Wading through the drifts a little way into the woods, he selected two long, slender yellow birches, perhaps three inches through at the butt. The first three or four feet of these he trimmed with left-handed blows, then showed Dick how to bring them down effectively.

The two trees, or saplings, were now dragged back to the mouth of the cave, and pitched down over the rocks as far as possible toward the lake.

Rodney gave orders to pack up for the journey, and we set about it in good earnest.

Coats were buttoned up tightly. The meat was divided and stowed in our pockets. Mabel was warmly wrapped and hooded, and cheerily declared herself ready for half a day’s fight with the storm, if necessary.

At length, all preparations were complete, and putting out the fire with snow, we left our little refuge, not without feelings of regret, after all.

Rodney took the lead, beside Mabel. I came next, limping painfully along, with Francois’s one strong arm under mine. I never shall forget how tenderly he helped me down over those steep ledges. I believe I could not have reached the lake in safety without him. Dick brought up the rear, rifle in hand.

We halted on the outskirts of the wood, and Francois went back for his two half-trimmed saplings. The bushy ends of these he now wattled dexterously together, leaving the two trees side by side their whole length, and about two feet apart.

With cords he lashed the stouter boughs across from each tree to the other, making a long, swaying, but stout litter, the two butts of the trees being held in the hands of the bearer, the other extremity dragging on the ground. On this I was directed to place myself, and, much against my inclination, I obeyed.

Francis took his place between the shafts and moved off steadily in a westerly direction. The icy breath of the wind in our faces showed that the wind was shifting to a more favorable quarter, though the cold at the same time seemed increasing.

CHAPTER IX.

AFTER awhile Mabel took my place on the litter, and I managed, with the aid of a cane, to keep up with the rest of the party.It was a hard journey, and reminded me of our struggle, Rod’s and mine, across the lake the day before. But there were five of us now, and we felt constantly increasing confidence in our taciturn guide, who only rested when we were tired. The air was still full of driving snow, which in many places had drifted so that we had to make long circuits to get round them.

After a couple of hours of this wearisome journeying, Francis announced that we were within half a mile of the western shore of the lake.

As we neared the camp our anxiety grew intense. What if Ned, defenseless as he was, had been attacked by another bear, the mate of the one we had killed; or by Ranouf, sullen, savage and eager for revenge?

Or the boy might have wandered off after us, as Dick had done, and even now be lying stiff and cold beneath the cruel drifts, far out on the icy bosom of Umbagog.

We were making our way along laboriously, when Dick cried out sharply:

“See! the bear, the bear!” at the same time pointing to a mound on the ice just ahead.

To be sure, there was the body of the huge creature we had shot, just as we left it the day before when we started so confidently for the camp with our two prize pickerel. It seemed months ago that we were fishing there, in the gray of the morning.

The shifting winds had blown away the snow somewhat, so that *the long, black fur showed plainly.

“You kill him?” asked the half-breed, incredulously, pausing to note the size of the animal.

“We did,” said Dick; “and you’ve had a good meal off his flank, old fellow,”

“Smart boys,” ejaculated Fran§ois, with a grin of admiration, as he picked up the end of the litter and moved on again.

In five minutes we reached the woods, and struck into the old path, though I never should have known it, for the drifts with which it was heaped.

As we filed slowly around the bowlder and came in sight of the camp, our hearts beat quickly. Even I, forgetting my lameness, rushed forward with the rest, shouting:

“Halloo, Ned! Hooray, we’re home again! Ned, Ned!”

Alas! there was no answer. Our worst fears were realized. The camp was quite empty.

Back and forth the rest went, calling wildly for their lost friend. I crept into the hut, and burying my face in the blankets, cried bitterly. Ned was their friend, and they loved him; but he was my only brother.

Gentle little Mabel Armstrong came softly into the camp and laid her hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. Then I remembered that her father was lost, too, and I felt that I was doing wrong to give way so completely.

With an aching heart, I suffered myself to be led out to join the others in the discussion of plans.

We gathered in a gloomy knot about the fireplace, where the embers were still smouldering. It was snowing hard all the time, but we forgot that. It was Rodney who led Mabel gently within the shelter, insisted upon her remaining there, and exchanged her icy cloak for a dry blanket, which he wrapped about her shoulders.

Soon after, one of us looked in, and found she had lain down, poor child, and was fast asleep.

“I don’t see,” said Rodney sadly, “what could have made Ned leave camp.”

“I can’t say much,” Dick remarked, “for I did the same thing myself yesterday. No one can realize what the storm is out on the lake, till he gets fairly into it and swept away.”

“It won’t do any good to hunt for him,” added Rodney. “I suppose we may as well build up the fire, make as heavy a smoke as possible, and discharge the rifle once in a while. It’s all we can do.”

These suggestions were carried out without much enthusiasm. We somehow could not recover from the blow of finding the empty hut. I say “we;” but Francis had taken no part in any of these consultations. He busied himself about the camp, first borrowing a knife and returning from the lake, after a short absence, with a plentiful supply of bear-steak; then putting the kettle on, and preparing quietly for the noon meal.

As he was passing to and fro on the other side of the fire, we saw him pause suddenly and scrutinize the snow just before him, with an exclamation of surprise.

“What is it, Francois?” I called out, with mingled dread and hope.

“Two men here,” he replied laconically, pointing to the snow.

We hurried over to where he stood. There were two sizes of footprints, widely varying, side by side. No bear’s track this, but the print of a heavy man’s boot, large and firm.

By careful search, we found several more of these larger tracks, showing conclusively that a stranger had joined Ned during our absence.

“Ranouf, Ranouf!” we said to each other, without a moment’s hesitation.

But Francis shook his head.

“Ranouf had big nails in boot,” he said. “Foot bigger dan dis, too.”

“Who can it be, then?”

“I know,” almost shouted Dick. “It’s Mr. Armstrong; it’s Mabel’s father.”

We could only hope that Dick was right; for we believed that with the energetic lumber merchant, Ned’s chances of life were more than doubled, even if they were lost in the forest or on the lake.

With lighter hearts, we were proceeding with our cooking, when a sound of strange voices and cracking of bushes from the direction of the lake made us all start to our feet at once.

With hearts thumping and breath coming short and quick, we waited.

The foremost man, dressed in a fur-bordered overcoat, came in sight around the big bowlder. We knew in a moment-that it was Mr. Armstrong. “Where is my brother?”

“My daughter—have you seen her?”

Mr. Armstrong and I gasped the sentences out both at once. Rodney took the gentleman by the arm, and with a smile led him to the little camp where Mabel was sleeping peacefully.

We heard him cry, “.My darling, my darling!” as we turned away, leaving them alone.

Presently Mr. Armstrong came back to us, the tears still streaming over his cheeks.

“Forgive my selfishness, boys,” he said; “but she is all the world to me. And I thought she was dead!”

He stopped a moment to control himself; then wrung our hands, one after another.

Meanwhile, half a dozen roughly-clad men had lounged up to the fire, and stood in various easy attitudes, warming themselves and looking rather hungrily at the steak which Francis was stoically broiling over the coals.

Explanations were in order, and for a while there was a hubbub “like a sewing circle,” as Dick confided to Mabel, at a venture.

Ned was safe at the fine old Middle Dam Camp, we were told.

Mr. Armstrong had found his horse unmanageable on being pursued by the robbers the day before, and was soon thrown out into a drift, the frantic animal tearing off with the empty sleigh at his heels.

We afterward heard that, strangely enough, the horse found his way during the afternoon to Upton, where he walked, minus the sleigh, into his master’s stable, much to that gentleman’s astonishment.

Distracted by the discovery of the loss of his daughter, Mr. Armstrong had wandered wildly about among the drifts, calling her name, until he came within range of Ned’s camp-fire.

Instinctively following up the smell of smoke, he staggered into Camp Vagabond where he was tenderly cared for by Ned.

The next morning at daylight the two started for the Middle Dam, Mr. Armstrong acting as guide. They were fortunate enough to strike a logging team at the head of the lake, and at once made up a search party. The rest you know.

Well, my story is pretty much finished.

Francois was so penitent, and had done us such good service that he was reinstated in a logging-camp, with a handsome present to send to his wife upon the shores of Megantic. Ranouf we never heard of again’.

We all spent a couple of days at the Middle Dam, the invalids in quiet indoor amusements (I wrote up my journal, forming most of this account in those two days), the others among the loggers in the woods.

As Ned and I were both much better, we four Vagabonds spent the remainder of the week in our own camp, according to our original plan.

It was hard to leave our friends; but Mabel lives in Boston, and I came upon her and Rod solemnly exchanging city addresses, so I think we shall all see more of one another.

The bear-skin, by the way, lies on my floor before the fire.

Next winter we shall probably go into camp again, perhaps somewhere in the South. At any rate, we shall take good care not to be caught in a Maine snowstorm in the wilderness, remembering, as we do, those terrible days and nights away from Camp Vagabond when we were lost on Umbagog.