Mac grinned. “That ghost or spook must be a cold-blooded fellow, prowling around here in rooms as cold as these are.”
Tim glanced out of the window. “Mac, it is snowing again, and I have a hunch that it is going to snow hard. Let’s get some more wood in before things close down.”
“I guess we had better. Some of that limb over at the cabin is left, and we can get our supply off of that.”
The twins took their axes and hastened to the limb before the cabin. Falling to with a will, they soon had the wood supply mounting. The storm increased as they worked, until they could scarcely see for the whirling flakes. For some time they were silent, saving their energy for the task before them, but their minds were on the same subject. Mac leaned on his ax for a breathing spell.
“I’m afraid that the boys will have a hard time finding their way through this storm,” he said.
Tim stopped chopping and looked anxiously toward the forest, which could barely be seen. Both boys had a goodly quantity of snow on their shoulders and hats.
“I have been thinking the same thing,” he admitted. “You can hardly see the woods from here. And they don’t know the way very well.”
“Maybe they can see better in the woods than we can out here in the open,” said Mac hopefully. He began to chop again with vigor. “Let’s get through here and get back in the lodge. By golly, we can hardly see anything ourselves, and we might get lost without much trouble!”
They carried their wood into the lodge and then returned to the cabin for a final load of their camping equipment. Satisfied that they now had everything, Tim locked the door and trotted across the open space to the hunting lodge. He paused at the door for a final look at the white, storm-tossed world about him, and an anxious frown gathered on his forehead.
“How I wish Kent and Barry were back here! I don’t see how they can possibly find their way in a storm like this one.”