“Gone back to Brookside,” said a neighbor. “He got word to come at once.”
Down at the lake there were a dozen or more friends to see them off, including Cora Runnell, who came to say good-by to her father. The start was made on skates, and it was an easy matter to drag the two heavily loaded sleds over the smooth ice.
“Good-by, boys; take good care of yourselves,” said Mr. Westmore.
“Don’t let a big buck or a bear kill you,” said Mr. Rush to Fred, and then with a laugh and a final handshake the hunting tour was begun.
As the party moved up the lake they noticed that the Silver Queen was nowhere in sight. Dan Marcy had failed to break the record with his new ice boat and had hauled her over to a carpenter shop for alterations.
“I don’t believe he is doing a stroke of regular work,” observed Joe. “If he keeps on he will become a regular town loafer. He has already gone through all the money, his folks left him.”
There was no sunshine, but otherwise the atmosphere was clear, and as the wind was at their backs they made rapid progress in the direction of Pine Island. The lodge which Joel Runnell had mentioned was situated near the upper shore, so that they would have to skirt the island for over a mile before reaching the spot.
Inside of an hour they had passed out of sight of Lakeport, and now came to a small island called the Triangle, for such was its general shape. Above the Triangle the lake narrowed for the distance of half a mile, and here the snow had drifted in numerous ridges from a foot to a yard high.
“This isn’t so nice,” observed Harry, as they tugged at the ropes of the sleds.
“I’ll go ahead and break the way,” said Joel Runnell, and then he continued, suddenly, “There is your chance!”