"What do you want?" yelled Bob Somers, holding up his hand to stay any hasty action.
"You'll find out quick enough," came an angry retort. "Something has happened to Musgrove's hut."
"Well, nothing is going to happen to ours."
"In just about two minutes—"
"Stay where you are, Piper," interrupted Hackett, fiercely. "We didn't roll that snowball against your pile of logs."
"Yes—better keep back!" warned Bob.
The three dark figures continued to advance.
Seven arms drew back and as many snowballs were sent spinning through the air.
The invaders, unprepared for so sudden a response, fell back in confusion.
"You'll pay dearly for this," yelled Piper.
A second hail of missiles, sent with precision, whirled against them. Then, before they could make a move, others landed with thuds and thumps, until the young men were forced to beat a hurried retreat.
Flying before the fusillade, Piper and his companions struck out for the lake, with a shower of snowballs rattling about them. Their anger and chagrin at finding themselves helpless before the machine-like attacks of the boys was unbounded.
"Oh, my, what a rout," puffed Nat, with a delighted grin. "Ha, ha! Guess Piper must be about boiling over."
"Hello! My gracious—what's that?"
Dave Brandon, who had interrupted the speaker, pointed across the lake.
A dull, fitful light had appeared, which gradually grew brighter, until a tongue of flame shot upward.
"Their cabin's afire," gasped Nat Wingate. "Gee! look at that!"
Hackett gave a lusty shout. "Hello, you pill-throwers," he cried; "look across the lake, and run for the fire company around the corner. Whoop—your shanty's a goner!"
Hostilities ceased on the instant. Piper and his companions gave one shout, and then began a rapid flight toward their camp.
"It's getting bigger and bigger," declared Travers, excitedly.
"I'd bet on those chaps in a race, now, Hacky," said Sam Randall. "Shall we go over and give them a hand?"
With all speed, the boys strapped on their skates, and, fairly leaping over the snow, made for the ice.
"Cracky—look at it now!" observed Tom Clifton. "Aren't those flames bright? Won't be anything but a pile of cinders when we get there."
John Hackett quickly took the lead, his long legs fairly seeming to fly, but Bob Somers pushed him closely. The flames grew brighter, and a veil of smoke could be seen drifting slowly in front of the dark trees, to rise like a blur against the clear, moonlit sky.
"Nothing can save the old shanty now," cried Hackett. "My eye—wow!—Say! We're sold—everybody sold! If this doesn't beat all!"
In making a long détour, so as to avoid a field of snow, the other side of the cabin came in view, disclosing an enormous bonfire, built at a safe distance from the structure. The flames, leaping furiously upward, cast a bright glare around.
For a moment there was silence, then a roar of merriment broke forth.
"Oh, my!" laughed Nat Wingate, holding his sides; "this is the richest joke yet. It's Musgrove's work—ha, ha! That's the time he outdid old Yardsley."
"It's the biggest bonfire I ever saw," laughed Sam Randall. "Guess they must have seen those chaps chasing us across the lake."
A couple of dark figures were seen to emerge from a mass of trees to their left, and strike out on the lake.
"Sladder and Musgrove," asserted Bob Somers. "You can't mistake Muzzy for any one else." In a few moments the two joined them.
"Don't believe you'll find much left of your hut," said Tom Clifton.
"No odds, sonny," replied Musgrove, calmly; "we didn't git the wust of it by a long shot.”