“No, Joe, I was only fooling. But I believe the little beggars know we won’t hurt them, and that is why they show themselves. If we wanted birds or a partridge we wouldn’t see a feather of either.”
“It is tantalizing, but we—oh!”
Joe’s talking came to a sudden end. He was walking along a windswept ridge, where the surface was covered with a thin icy snow. He had taken a misstep and now he rolled over and over into a hollow twenty or more feet deep. The force of the tumble broke the crust of the snow, and with a shout for help he suddenly disappeared from view.
At first Harry was inclined to roar with laughter, for it was a comical sight to see Joe go down, head first, dragging the snowshoes after him. But suddenly Harry’s mirth came to an end, for Joe did not reappear as he had expected.
“Joe! Joe!” he called out; “Joe, what’s the matter?”
No answer came back, and in increased alarm Harry commenced to climb down into the hollow, taking care, however, not to pitch over as his companion had done.
When he reached the bottom he caught sight of a snowshoe and began to pull upon it. This nearly threw him over, but he continued to pull, and presently uncovered one of Joe’s lower limbs. Then Joe turned around, his head came up, and he uttered a cry.
“Wouw!” came from his lips. “Gosh! I thought I was going straight down to kingdom come.”
“I thought you were buried alive,” returned Harry.
The loose snow had gone down Joe’s back and up his sleeves, and it took a deal of shaking to free himself from a feeling that he declared was the very opposite of comfortable. He got upon his feet with difficulty, and then both boys wondered how they were to get to the top of the ridge again.