This plan worked very well; in the unity of action, the regular, unvarying stroke for stroke, was a certain force that carried them forward famously.
At the end of an hour and a half Hal suddenly called, from his place at the rear:
“Oh, fellows, stop a minute.”
Tom and Ned looked behind. There was Hal, lying flat on the ice!
“I’ve got to rest,” he explained, as the wind drifted them back upon him. Evidently he was the weak one in the party.
“Get up,” commanded Ned. “You’ll get all stiff.”
“I should say! You’ll feel worse than you did before,” chimed in Tom.
But Hal only lay and puffed.
“It’s snowing!” exclaimed Ned. “Come on, Hal; we’ve got to get home.”
Hard particles of snow were rushing with the wind, cutting through the air and scudding along over the ice.