She brought him her father’s old “slicker.” Henry cut it into suitable shape and nailed and lashed it securely to the runners and to the table top. Now he had a flat-bottomed sled with a rising front to it that would serve. He smiled as he looked at the queer contrivance and said aloud: “I wish Mr. Lesher could see that!”
“Who is Mr. Lesher?” asked George.
“Oh, he’s my Scoutmaster back in Ohio. Now come on!”
He opened the door, drew the sled outside, pushed it up on the snow and stepped on it. It bore his weight perfectly.
“It’s all right,” he cried. “But it won’t take all three of you at once.”
“I’ll wait,” said Mary, “you take the two boys.”
“Very well,” said Henry.
“You’ll surely come back for me?”
“Surely, and I think it’s mighty brave of you to stay behind. Now come on, boys,” he said.
Leaving Mary filled with pleasure at such praise, he put the two boys carefully into the sled, stepped into his snow-shoes and dragged them rapidly across the prairie. It was quite dark now, but the sky was clear and the stars were bright. The storm had completely stopped. He remembered the bearings he had taken by the stars, and reached the high hill without difficulty. Below him lay the car.