Frank Allen at Old Moose Lake;

It required scarcely a moment of time for these boys, facing danger, seeing one of their number in deadly peril, to carry out their maneuver to save him from a watery grave.

Forgetting everything else, even forgetting much of the “safety first” preachment, they sent Lanky out ahead, flat on his stomach, while Paul came next and Frank Allen anchored on the feet of Paul. Frank stood while the other two tandemmed to the edge of the ice.

In the meanwhile Buster, a good swimmer, dived when he realized that his head was striking the covering of ice on top of the lake, and came up again, this time at the very edge of the break.

In that moment Lanky reached out a long arm and grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

Buster realized at the touch that help was grasping for him, and he made a desperate effort to stroke himself to the hole.

“Hold steady, Frank!” called Paul, but Frank could see easily enough what was being done.

Lanky’s fingers gripped again for the shoulder of Buster just as the boy’s head popped above the surface of the water.

This brought Buster over clear of the break. The next thing was to get him out.

“Put me closer!” gasped Lanky as he stretched his arms again to get Buster—just as poor Buster started to go down again.

A hurried grab, a quick twining of an arm under one of Buster’s shoulders, and Lanky was holding him, head clear of the water. Buster seemed unable to help himself.

Lanky’s other arm went under the other shoulder of the boy, he gasped back to Frank to pull, and Frank, putting his entire strength behind the effort, started backward, digging his skates into the ice to hold himself steady. Step by step, inch by inch, digging at each step, Frank felt the weight coming out of the water, until, when it seemed the effort had to stop, he felt a sudden release and knew that Buster was free.

Quickly he pulled the two sliding boys, with their dead weight, for several yards, then dropped Paul’s feet. Then all three of the boys went to work on Buster.

He gasped several times, spit water out, but he could not move either arms or legs! In going into the water and in making stroking efforts to get to the hole, he had twisted the four lines around himself in such manner that his arms and legs were almost completely pinioned.

Five minutes later they had Buster to his feet, shivering from the thorough wetting with freezing water, but free of all entangling alliances, as Lanky afterward called the lines.

Twenty minutes later they went into the commodious camp house and hailed with glee the freely burning log fire which welcomed them back.

“Did you get a picture of the fish you caught?” Buster laughingly inquired of Paul when he had gotten into a blanket and had hung his wet clothes before the great fire to be dried. In the meantime Frank was making a pot of hot coffee for all.

“Don’t want pictures of catching suckers,” dryly replied the young snapshot enthusiast.

The day was broken up by the occurrence, but while the clothes dried the boys enjoyed themselves drinking coffee and talking about the experience, throwing in a joke now and then, since the serious side of it had passed.

“Now that we’ve had a tenderfoot spoil our day’s fishing,” said Frank, “what do you say if we go out on some different kind of exploring to-morrow?”

The other boys acquiesced at once. They would have agreed to any suggestion for activity which might have been offered. They were up here to have some fun and not to decorate the inside of the camp. So, going over the various things which might be done, they finally decided on leaving fishing aside for a day or two and, taking their firearms, go into the mountains to the south of the lake, mountains which looked down upon them in all their bleak whiteness from the front door of the cabin.

Two wrist watches and the alarm clock were all brought into accord, the boys setting their watches by the clock, laughingly remarking that the chances were that the alarm clock was most nearly right.

Instead of putting on pieces of the dry wood, they tried a large log of the green wood which they had chopped previously, and enjoyed, all during the late evening, the crackling of the log as the water boiled out, sometimes making steam within the wood-cells, snapping with minute explosions.

It was before daybreak again when they rose from their bunks, their clothing all perfectly dry, and rushed through the washing of their faces and hands and the preparations for breakfast. Taking turns at cooking breakfast had been the agreement, though the boy who was cook got many criticisms on the results of his culinary efforts. No mercy was shown in this regard. However, it was remarked by Lanky Wallace that none of the boys failed to eat every scrap of food that was placed before him, it mattered not what he had previously said about the cook nor what he said about the food while he was eating it.

“Well,” called out Lanky as he devoured his part of a rather sumptuous meal for the morning’s start, “do we leave a fire here to-day so that Buster can have a place to dry his clothes when we get back?”

This brought a storm of protest from that young man.

“I guess, since we have enough wood cut to last us a while, we might as well leave a fire,” remarked Frank when the miniature tempest had subsided. “I don’t know that I like the idea of leaving the place with a fire in it, but if we use dry wood that won’t crackle out of the fireplace too much, we might take a chance.”

Thus it was that dry logs were placed on the great fire in the living room just prior to the boys grabbing up their guns and starting on the day’s voyage of adventure.

Straight toward the hills the young hunters strode, looking in neither direction as they went, for the first streaks of dawn had not yet shown themselves, and they figured they would see the sun rise from among the mountains if they hurried.

Just as they were half way up one of the larger hills, which stood about half a mile from the camp, they saw the majestic lights thrown ahead to herald the coming of the king of day.

Then they agreed that they had not seen a beautiful thing the previous morning, but merely a poor sample of what could be viewed in this great region of mountains and lakes. The colors were more pronounced, more varied, and the four boys stood entranced at the side of the hill as they looked out over the tops of hemlocks, white pines, cedars and tamaracks.

Turning from this, when the sun had fought off the last vestiges of darkness and had taken full command of the skies for the next few hours, they trudged their way up the side of the hill, grabbing here and there to hold on some tree or spreading bush as the trail grew narrow in places and steep declivities yawned below.

Over the sheering top of the hill they went, dropped off into the valley, and there they caught sight of what they hoped for—a chance to shoot!

A covey of partridges flushed and flew down further into the glen between the hills, while the boys made an effort to get their weapons around from their backs where they were slung. It was too late to take a pot shot. The best thing was to follow down into the glen and learn what could be done.

This was not a broken trail, only a path which they, themselves, were making, for they were off the beaten track, into hills through which no trails ran.

“We must watch which way we come through here,” said Frank. “It would be very easy to get lost because it is not a regular path. Let’s put a marker here and there.”

“What’s the use?” said Lanky. “Our footprints are enough to guide us out of here when we wish to start.”

“How about just a little bit of a snowstorm blowing up?” asked Frank. “You know, we’ve seen snow come quickly, and snow is falling ahead of you even if the footprints might be fine just where you are at the moment. It doesn’t take much snow to cover what little tracks we have made.”

Whether this answer satisfied Lanky or not mattered little. Frank’s common-sense was so often evident that the boys decided on putting up rags to show their way, whereupon they used cleaning cloths and handkerchiefs from that time, tying them to trees as they went along, not too close together.

In the glen they followed the coveys of partridges around, taking shots when they could, but getting absolutely nothing, though Paul tried his former trick of taking last and careful shot when the birds were flushed.

Up out of the glen they finally came, wearied of running the covey “around a mile track,” putting it as Lanky did.

As they were climbing the opposite side of this hill, getting farther into the mountains, the lads stopped for a while to look at a mountain brook which was completely frozen over.

“What’s this?” Buster spied tracks in the snow at the foot of the cascade which the brook made before darting down into the glen below.

“Bear tracks?” cried Frank as he looked carefully at them.

The four boys studied them carefully, decided they might be bear tracks, though they had not heard of bear in this part of the country.

“However,” remarked Frank as they discussed the idea, “there might be a few spare ones. You can never tell. Anyhow, let’s follow the tracks and see what we find at the other end of the trail.”

The boys started after the tracks, seeing that they led forward and back along the same route, seeming to indicate that the animal had come for water and, finding none, had retraced its steps to its lair.

Frank led the way up the steep incline, watching ahead to see that the animal did not turn out without their noticing it.

Presently the tracks turned sharply to the left and led into a cave. The opening was not a large one and was between two trees which grew as guardians to the mouth of this castle.

At the opening the boys peered, saw only darkness, and then stood discussing what was the best procedure in such a case.

Smoking the animal out was not to be considered because they had no paper with them and no way to get a fire started if the paper was at hand. Shooting blindly within was just as quickly overruled, for there was no object at which to aim. Again and again they peered, but saw no eyes, nothing to indicate the presence of the animal save the tracks which led in and out.

“Let’s crawl in,” suggested Lanky, offering a solution.

This seeming to be the only way to learn what they wished to know, Lanky put his lean body through the hole first, followed quickly by Paul, and then by Frank.

Buster was left outside to act as a guard, for fear something untoward might happen.

The boys had brought no flashlight with them. Frank had some matches in his case which he always carried for such emergencies.

He struck one of these, but it sucked out instantly, indicating that this cave had an outlet somewhere at the other end.

“Let’s crawl further back,” said Frank, leading the way.

Stooping to see where they were going, even in the darkness, and to save their heads from the rock roof, they slowly, little by little, foot by foot, got back a few more yards into the cave.

Once again Frank struck a match, but it flickered and went out. He tried a second time, but without success.

Looking back, seeing that the cave was straight, they moved on farther, not knowing why, for if they met anything they would not be able to carry combat against it.

Once more Frank struck a match—this time it flared up and lighted the way ahead of them a few yards.

“Look!” yelled Lanky. A dozen snakes of all sizes were coiled or lying in the path, guarding the entire width of the passage way! The boys gasped as they saw the creatures ready to strike. They turned involuntarily to go back to the opening.

With a grunt a great form heaved up ahead of them—and they saw they were cut off from going out by the way they had come!