"Oh, ho, what are we going to do, fellows?" asked Dave Brandon, lazily, to Dick Travers and Tom Clifton, as they sat warming themselves before a cheerful fire.
"I don't think we ought to stray very far from camp," said Tom Clifton. "Looks as if there was going to be a big snow-storm."
"An 'undeniable fact,'" put in Dick, with a grin.
"And if it's anything like the kind that Riggs, Junior, spoke about, Tom is right," said Dave. "For my part, I'd sooner sit by a nice, big fire, anyway, than trot around over a lot of barren hills."
"You don't have to tell us that, Chubby," laughed Dick.
"No, I suppose not." The stout boy yawned and shifted his position slightly. "I haven't been able to write a single bit since I came out here," he grumbled, more to himself than to the others.
"Why not?" asked Tom.
"Too cold—and, whenever I begin, Billy Musgrove's face seems to bob right up in front of me."
"What has that to do with it?"
"See here, Dick Travers," observed Dave, with mock severity, "could any one have an inspiration and think of Billy Musgrove's face at the same time?"
Dick grinned. "It kind of takes the poetry out of the scene," he suggested.
"Exactly. Hello—"
"Looks like smoke signals across the way. Wonder if anything's up?"
The three boys stared intently toward the cabin, a mere brownish spot against the background of trees.
Sure enough. A cloud of grayish smoke, in a rather solid mass, rose lazily in the air, light against the firs and dark as it emerged into the expanse of sky above.
"There goes another!" exclaimed Tom, in some excitement.
"Sure as you live, it's a signal," put in Dick, as a third slowly appeared. "Guess we'll have to skip over. Something may have happened."
"Certainly we will," grumbled Dave. "And just as I thought of getting a nice rest by the fire. Hello—gun signals, too," he added, as a faint report came from the distance.
"Hurry up, fellows! Strap on your skates!" cried Dick, excitedly. "We must see about this. Somebody hurt, do you think?"
"It isn't far across, and we'll soon know," replied Dave.
Down to the lake the trio quickly made their way, and then, with long, swinging strides, began to skim swiftly over the frozen surface. As they approached the cabin, many eager looks were cast toward it.
"There's somebody at the door now," panted Dave Brandon.
A dark figure had appeared, and an instant later a hail reached their ears, which was answered by a lusty chorus from the skaters.
"I hope I haven't put you fellows to any inconvenience, or given you a scare," said Fulmer Robson, as the trio breathlessly approached.
"Nothing has happened, I hope?" panted Tom.
"No—nothing serious. But come inside, boys, and I'll tell you all about it."
The interior of the cabin had been made comfortable and cozy. In one corner was a stove, while several rude seats were distributed around. Against one wall stood a long table.
"Make yourselves comfortable," said Robson, drawing a stool alongside the stove, which was sending forth a pleasant heat. "I would have come over to your camp," he added, "but I have a bad headache. What I wanted you for is this. There's a pack of wolves around the neighborhood, and I thought you ought to know it."
"Wolves?" echoed Tom Clifton, paling a trifle.
"Yes! We had a sight of them yesterday afternoon—not far from here, too. A pack of the brutes were after a deer. Heydon and I had reached the top of a hill when we discovered them, and, as we had a field-glass, we saw the whole thing."
"What happened?" asked Tom, eagerly.
"It looked as if the wolves had chased the deer for a long distance, for he seemed 'most played out. Three of the brutes flung themselves upon him at once, and—well, you can guess the rest."
"How far away was this?" asked Dave.
"Not more than two miles."
"We are certainly much obliged to you," put in Dick Travers. "It wouldn't do to be unprepared, if they happen to come along."
"I should say not. Wolves are bad customers at this time of the year. I suppose," added Robson, with a smile, "you thought something terrible had happened?"
"Yes, we did," admitted Dick. "Where are the other fellows—how did you manage to make that signal alone?"
"They just left, a short time ago," answered Robson. "The weather looks pretty threatening, doesn't it? Well, we concluded that it would be best to get in as much game as possible."
"Do you think it's going to be as bad as all that?" asked Tom Clifton, anxiously.
"It's hard to say; after all, it may be nothing worse than an ordinary snow-storm. But we got caught once, and don't propose to let such a thing happen again. I expected the whole crowd of you," he added, with a questioning glance.
Dave explained the situation.
"Oh, that's it," remarked Robson, reflectively. "On your way back, you might tell Sladder and Musgrove about the wolves. And by the way," he added, "I haven't much use for those fellows. Frankly, I don't like either."
"They always treated us well," replied Dave, evasively.
"Oh, I don't want you to say anything against 'em," laughed Robson, "but Billy Musgrove by all odds is the most impudent chap I ever ran across. We had a scrap the other day—he kept calling me 'Bobson,' and Piper, 'Swiper.' We got kind of sore, and Billy then fired off, sassing all three of us right and left."
"Musgrove never gets names straight," observed Dick, with a grin.
"It's beginning to snow," broke in Tom, "and the wind is coming up, too."
The sky was unusually dark and threatening; it seemed almost like approaching twilight.
An anxious expression came into Dick Travers' face, and Tom, too, surveyed the scene apprehensively, but the poet laureate's round features seemed only to reflect content, as he resumed his place before the fire.
"I'll bet it will be a howler," said Tom Clifton.
"And that we get snowed up for a week," grumbled Dick.
"Why not add a visit or two from wolves, while you are about it?" put in Robson, with a laugh.
"Nothing like looking at things all around," yawned Dave. "I feel uncommonly sleepy."
"You'd better have lunch with me," proposed Robson. "It will make my head feel better. Only wish the rest of your crowd was here," he added. "Fall to, boys, and give me a hand."
At length, however, the thought that the other boys might have returned induced the three members of the Rambler Club to bring their visit to a close.
"Oh, ho, I'm afraid we'll have to go, fellows," said Dave Brandon, with a grimace. "Just think of having to face that wind."
"Sorry you have to leave," observed Robson.
"Not half so sorry as we are," drawled Dave, with a dubious look outside.
Once out upon the lake, a succession of furious gusts swept toward them, accompanied by whirling clouds of fine, needle-like particles. Presently, they were in the thick of it, and found themselves, for the moment, compelled to turn their backs to the storm.
"Whew! This is certainly fierce," panted Dick. "We ought to get there pretty soon, however."
The storm did not increase, as the boys' fears led them to expect. Instead, the fall of snow soon began to lessen, and only where there happened to be irregularities in the ice did the flakes find a resting-place.
"Hurrah, I see the shore," burst forth Dick, at length. "Let's make a spurt."
This the trio proceeded to do, and they were soon tramping over the snow toward the camp.
Startling news awaited them.