The seven Kingswood boys after leaving the cabin stood irresolutely for a moment.
"Talk about being disgusted," sniffed Nat Wingate. "Did you ever meet such a queer chap as that Piper?"
"Listen!" exclaimed Tom Clifton, raising his hand. "Didn't I hear a voice?"
After a short discussion, the group began to ascend the hill. They kept a sharp look-out for the others, and once or twice shouted their names loudly.
Not being in a hurry and stopping at intervals to talk, the boys had managed to use up the better part of a quarter of an hour when a bark from Bowser indicated the position of Sladder and Musgrove.
"Right over there, eh?" exclaimed Bob Somers.
"I see 'em," cried Tom Clifton. "What in the world are they doing?"
"Ha, ha!" laughed Hackett; "I told you so. If that isn't a dandy snowball, and—"
"They're going to send it where it will do the most harm, too, I'll bet," chuckled Nat.
"We ought to stop them," interposed Bob Somers, hastily.
"Too late! They've done it," put in Dick Travers. "Whew! it's traveling some, I can tell you."
"Ah—ah—but that was a smack for you!" exclaimed Tom Clifton, breathlessly, as the snowball struck the hut. "Will they—"
His further speech was interrupted by the three hunters, who burst furiously out of the door.
Enraged beyond measure, and fully believing that the Kingswood boys were responsible for the outrage, they charged toward them.
"Guess we'd better make a break for it, too!" exclaimed Nat Wingate, with a short laugh. "Christopher, I'll back Tommy against Musgrove any time, after seeing this."
Swiftly seven figures sped over the snow, while at a little distance came Piper and his friends, uttering loud calls for them to stop and take their medicine.
"Nice, pleasant evening," observed Nat, for the second time.
"Oh, ho," panted Dave, "society in the wilderness—social calls seem somewhat dangerous."
"Hello! Got discouraged pretty quick, eh?" put in Nat, looking over his shoulder.
The three young men had stopped, then began to retrace their steps. Seeing this, the boys slowed up, and, breathing hard, reached the edge of the lake.
"They're coming out again, fellows," exclaimed Sam Randall hastily, "and making this way, too."
Hackett's face began to darken. "We're seven," he exclaimed, in an angry tone. "Let's stand up to them."
"Oh, ho—might be better to avoid trouble, if possible," put in Dave Brandon. "Wait 'til they get in a more reasonable frame of mind."
Swiftly the boys began to cut over the icy surface. The moon had risen far above the hills, casting a silvery light over the broad, greenish expanse of lake, and touching the snow-drifts with sharp, glinting rays.
Glancing over their shoulders, the boys saw the dark forms of the pursuers coming steadily on.
It was an exciting chase. Occasionally the skaters plunged and floundered through snow-drifts, so as to keep a straight course for their camp. Gradually the shore grew more distinct, the dark, grim trees on the hilltop stood out clearly against the moonlit sky. Then the huts, bathed in the soft light, came into view.
"Great Scott!" panted Sam Randall. "Look, they have changed their course."
Puffing, and almost breathless from the wild race, the boys slackened their speed, then stopped, to gaze after the forms of the hunters now speeding down the lake.
"What?—what do you think of that?" gasped Nat Wingate.
"Looking for Sladder and Musgrove, perhaps," exclaimed Dick Travers, breathing hard.
"But you can just bet they will be coming back," put in Sam. "Let's get over to the place and be ready for them."
"It will take more than those chaps to drive us away, too," declared Bob Somers; "eh, Chubby?"
"Fellows," exclaimed the poet laureate, "what is the first law of nature?"
"Self-defense."
"Right you are. Now—in order to avoid trouble, we have considerably overheated ourselves, besides allowing an unjust suspicion to rest on the whole crowd."
"Well?" said Hackett, fiercely.
"It isn't well. But we can make no more concessions to ill temper. Hasty action must now meet with its proper reward."
"Hear—hear—what's coming?"
"Just this—let's make an enormous quantity of white pellets, otherwise known as snowballs, and in case hostilities are resumed, use them with promptness and dispatch."
"You must be going to become a pedagogue, Chub," laughed Hackett.
"We are losing valuable time by standing here gabbing," broke in Dick, impatiently. "Come ahead."
The remaining distance was quickly covered, and the boys, once more at the huts, removed their skates, and prepared to follow Dave Brandon's advice.
In a short time, by hard work, the seven boys had collected great piles of ammunition, and stood waiting.
"I suppose those chaps think that any time they choose to come along we'll run," observed Bob Somers.
"Piper and the others are pretty strong fellows," said Tom Clifton. "Did you ever notice what muscles Heydon has? I wouldn't like to get in a scrap with him."
This remark caused a hearty outburst of laughter, which considerably nettled young Clifton's feelings.
"Hi, hi—get out of that! Vamoose—skip!"
These cries, uttered in very loud tones, suddenly startled the camp. Tearing around the slope of the hill came three figures, with Piper well in the lead.