The surface was smooth and icy, and the efforts of the boys to stay their progress were in vain. Huge masses of snow swept with them down the hill. Bob Somers felt the cold air rush past his face. He had a confused vision of bushes flying swiftly by, then he shot over the edge of a hillock, and dropped with a thud upon the other side.
Breathless and excited, he made another effort to stop his downward plunge. For a moment, it was partially checked, but the tumbling snow almost instantly tore him away from his hold.
Long John Hackett and Dick Travers were considerably in advance. Their startled cries had been silenced, and like Bob Somers, they were helpless upon the smooth, slippery surface of the hill.
A long line of bushes stretched across just below.
John Hackett escaped them by a few feet, but Dick Travers crashed into their midst and came to an abrupt halt.
A moment later, Bob brought up against him with an impact that made both wince.
"I say, Dick, are you hurt?" he gasped, excitedly, as soon as he could find his voice.
"Whew, I'm too dizzy to know. You nearly knocked the last bit of breath out of me. My face is scratched to pieces."
"And—wow—how my ear stings. I'm sore all over."
"But we are mighty lucky to get off so easily," said Dick. "I wonder how old Hacky has fared."
"I hope he's all right. Say, my head spins like a top. Here come the rest of the fellows. I'll bet they are scared."
Both boys rose slowly and painfully to their feet. They were much jarred and bruised, but, fortunately, no serious damage had resulted.
"Hello, Hacky!" yelled Bob.
An answering hail came from below.
"He must be all right," said Dick, joyfully. "There he is—away down at the bottom of the hill."
"Are you hurt, fellows?" came a cry.
The other boys were making their way down the smooth, treacherous surface as fast as they dared.
"Not a bit of it!" yelled Bob. "Let's see about Hackett."
Without waiting for the others, he started down the incline, this time in an orderly fashion. Dick Travers followed him.
They found the tall boy busily engaged in brushing the snow off his clothes.
"Are you hurt, Hacky?" inquired Dick, anxiously.
"If my arm doesn't turn black and blue, I'm mistaken," growled John. "I got about eighty-seven jolts on the back of my neck, forty on the shoulders, and nearly broke my leg, besides. You fellows all right? That's good. What dunces we were to stand on such a bank. Anyway, I found out something."
"What's that?"
"Don't you see there's a little creek close here? And it goes in our direction, too—eh, Somers?"
"You're right," returned Bob, with a glance in the direction indicated. "Skating will be good for a change."
The rest of the boys now came up and were delighted to see that their friends were safe and sound.
"I move that we have something to eat," said Dave.
His proposition met with general favor, and three of the boys went after the sleds. In due course, they returned, and did full justice to the lunch which Silas Riggs had put up. It was rather cold fare, but all decided that it was better to push on as fast as possible.
"Somebody may be using that house 'Old' Silas spoke about," said Nat; "and, in that case, we'll have to build a camp."
In a short time the march was resumed.
The creek was found to be narrow and winding, but the wind had blown its surface comparatively free from snow.
"Now we'll make some speed," said Sam, as he unstrapped his snow-shoes. "Look out for air holes and thin places, fellows."
The crisp whirr of seven pairs of skates was soon ringing out, and the three victims of the snowslide almost forgot their aches and pains in the enjoyment of the sport.
"Great, isn't it?" grinned Hackett, cutting a letter S. "Anybody want to race?"
"Not to-day, my boy," said Bob. "Guess you've got us there."
Grim, dark trees hung over the watercourse, their interlacing branches covered with snow. Occasionally, boughs, still full of dull yellow leaves—like a touch of autumn in the bleak winter landscape, added brightness to the scene.
"Must be lots of minks, otter and beavers along these banks," declared Bob. "They live in just this kind of place."
"We'll make old Sladder open his eyes when we get back with a load of skins," exclaimed John Hackett. "The cheek of him to ask if we knew anything about hunting. Bang! I can hardly wait."
"The wildcats are going to catch it, fellows," drawled Tommy Clifton.
"Right you are, little boy," grinned Hackett. "And don't forget that bear you're going to help me find."
Nat began to show signs of fatigue, and soon a halt was made.
"Maybe we had better not try to reach the lake to-night," said Bob.
"Oh, pshaw! I can stand it, Somers," returned Nat. "A few minutes' rest will fix me up all right."
Suddenly a shout from Hackett, who had gone on ahead, attracted their attention. He had disappeared around a bend, but now came skating back.
"The river's just ahead, fellows," he cried. "Anything the matter, Nat?"
"No, I feel first-rate," returned Nat, rising to his feet. "Fellows, I believe this trip will fix me up all right."
"Of course it will," said Hackett, enthusiastically. "Say—we ought to reach Lake Wolverine pretty soon, now."
"I hope so—I'm half frozen," put in Tom Clifton; "a big fire and some hot coffee—"
"Um—um!" interrupted Dave Brandon; "and a pan of nice bacon, and baked potatoes, eh?"
"I can't listen to such talk and sit still," laughed Nat. "I believe it's getting colder," he added. "We'll feel it more on the river, too."
The mouth of the creek was soon reached, and with long, steady strides, the boys pushed on. Occasionally they insisted upon stopping to give Nat a rest, and it was not until after two o'clock that the sight of a broad expanse, gleaming in the sunlight straight ahead, brought forth a rousing cheer.
"Hurrah!" cried Bob Somers, "Lake Wolverine."
"Now for the cabin that old Riggs told us about," cried Nat.
They redoubled their exertions, skating close to the eastern shore. All were delighted with the surroundings of the lake. There was a picturesque combination of rugged hills and valleys, and they felt that in such a wild country plenty of game must be found.
"There's the cabin—straight ahead," cried Bob. "Look, Chubby, right in front of those firs!"
"You are right, Bob! And it's a sight I'm glad to see. Hurry up."
The stout boy and John Hackett started ahead in a lively fashion.
"Go it, Chubby!" yelled Bob. "Show him what you are made of!"
Dave needed no bidding. Bending forward, he skimmed swiftly over the ice, and when they came opposite the cabin Hackett led by only a few feet.
"Whew!" puffed Dave. "It warms a fellow up a bit. That's a pretty solid-looking house, 'Hatchet.'"
The cabin was built of logs and stood some distance from the edge of the lake, and near the base of a steep hill. It was partly surrounded by a group of tall cedars.
Dave and Hackett crossed the intervening patch of snow, their skates crunching through the hard crust. The latter tried the door, while Dave peered in through a window.
He uttered an exclamation of disappointment.
"Somebody is living here," he said. "There's a lot of dishes and stuff on a table. It means that we'll have to build a camp, after all."
"And it would have been such a bully place to stay," said Hackett, giving the door a spiteful kick.
"Well, there's no help for it," put in Bob, who had come up. "You can see the snow is freshly trampled."
"Wonder who they can be."
"Most likely hunters."
"Well, what are we going to do?" asked Sam Randall.
"Why, cross the lake, of course—if Nat doesn't mind."
"Oh, I'm not tired out yet, Somers," protested Nat. "Certainly we'll get over on the other side, and have a camp to ourselves, eh, Hacky?"
"Right you are! Face about—forward march!"
"It's time you exercised your muscle again on one of these sleds, Hackett," complained Dick Travers.
"Oh, I forgot! Really, my little tired-out friend, I forgot," grinned Hackett, seizing the rope.
"I don't call this any picnic," observed Sam, as they headed for the opposite shore.
"Nor I, either," said Tom. "We get the full force of the wind—cracky, my feet are getting like lumps of ice."
In spite of their hard traveling, the boys kept up a good pace, and soon the opposite shore began to assume definite form. It was hilly and well wooded.
"We had better divide up in two parties," suggested Bob; "we ought to strike a place quicker that way."
"All right," said Dick. "Come on, Bob and Chubby; let's see what we can find."
Skates were quickly removed, the sleds drawn up on shore and the two parties set out.
Bob, Dick Travers and Dave Brandon kept in a southerly direction, while the others pushed north.
"Any number of good places around here," exclaimed the stout boy, after a short search. "There's one, right by that clump of pines."
"Hello—hello!" came a faint hail from the distance.
"It's Hackett," said Dave, as they turned and saw a dark figure on the edge of the lake waving his arms.
"They must have found a good place."
"Hello!" yelled the distant figure again. "Dandy place."
This was all they could make out, but it was enough.
The three boys hurried forward.
In the course of a few minutes, hauling the sleds after them, they rejoined the others.
"We'll show you a dandy place," cried Nat; "the finest you ever saw."
He led them around a wooded ridge, where they found, between this and another ridge, a bowl-shaped valley. On one side, the hill sloped gently down to the shore of the lake.
"Isn't this a place for you, though?" asked Nat.
"You were lucky to come across it," declared Bob; "and it's sheltered from the northwest wind."
"Plenty of trees—maples and spruce—just the thing for our camp."
"And no fear of a snowslide," put in Dave; "the hill isn't steep enough for that. There's only one thing—"
"What is that, Chubby?"
"A thaw might make it unpleasant."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Hackett. "Why, it's getting colder—twice as cold every other minute. Let's fall to, fellows, and build a fire."
Several of the boys unpacked a box of provisions, while Sam Randall, Tom Clifton and Dick Travers began to collect fire-wood. Armed with hatchets, they quickly got enough to start a blaze.
As the flames began to roar and crackle, more wood was piled on, and the hungry and tired boys gathered around to warm their benumbed hands and feet.
"I'm going to have a cup of coffee," said Dave.
"That's the idea, Chubby."
"And why not roast some potatoes?"
"And what's the matter with a bit of bacon?"
"Right you are, boys! Let's get to work," said Bob.
Hunger spurred them on. In a few minutes, potatoes were roasting, and bacon hissing and sizzling before the fire.
Hackett went off with an axe, chopped a hole through the ice and dipped up enough water for the coffee.
When the meal was ready, the boys eagerly helped themselves, then took places around the cheerful fire and were content.