While the boys were staring around helplessly, and shaking from head to feet from the cold, Coulter espied another ice-boat coming along the lake shore.
“Let us stop those chaps!” he called. “Come on! Run!”
The others needed no second bidding. Anything was better than standing still, and they set off at a dog-trot, and soon came up to the ice-boat. It was a craft belonging to Bart Conners and some of his intimates.
“Stop! Stop!” yelled Coulter, Paxton, and Mumps. “Stop! There is open water ahead!”
These cries were heard, and without hesitation Bart Conners turned his craft into shore, allowing it to slide deep into a snowdrift.
“Oh, pshaw! Why didn’t we think to run our boat ashore?” muttered Coulter. Such a simple move had never entered the heads of the ill-fated trio.
“What’s the matter with you fellows?” demanded Bart Conners. “Why, you look frozen to death!”
“W—we are—al—almost!” gasped Paxton. “Ca—can’t you help us?”
“Did your boat go into the water?”
“Yes.”