The first he knew of the proximity of the young hunters was when he stumbled over Joe’s body, half covered with the drifting snow.
“Joe!” he exclaimed. “And Harry! This is too bad!”
He bent over Joe, and tried his best to arouse the young hunter. This was difficult, but at last Joe opened his eyes and stared vacantly around him.
“Wha—what do you want? Why can’t you let me sleep?” he murmured, softly.
“Get up, Joe. You are close to camp. Rouse yourself, my boy. You can’t stay here.”
“Oh, Runnell, is it you? I—I——”
“Yes, yes, I know. Get up. I’ll take Harry.”
The old hunter assisted Joe to his feet. Then he lifted Harry bodily, and with the younger lad over his shoulder, and the other by the arm, he started back whence he had come.
How they all reached shore was little short of a miracle, for the snow and wind whizzed and shrieked around them more madly than ever. Once Joel Runnell thought he would have to give up. But he set his teeth hard and pushed on, until at last he saw a flash of fire, and knew he was close to the shelter. He set up a feeble shout:
“Hello, Fred! Start up that fire, quick! And make a pot of hot coffee! I’ve found ’em, and they’re half frozen to death!”