So the two lads went down to the old boat, and looked her carefully over, discussing all the repairs she would need, and how they could be made.
"But why don't you think we could stay here longer?" Aleck asked, after a time.
"Because," his companion replied, "we have almost no ammunition and almost no fishing-tackle. In a week from now we should have to live wholly on what we could catch in fishing and by traps, and we get so little now that I think it foolish to risk it if we can get a chance to escape. I reckon it'll freeze up hard again in a few days, but for the last time this winter. Probably the ice'll break up so badly next time it thaws that we couldn't sledge on it; and after that, you know, come the long, stormy months of spring, when, if we tried sailing, our boat wouldn't keep afloat with four people in it during a journey across the lake. If we can't get away over the ice before the next break-up, I believe we're goners."
"It can't be very far to the mainland; but the weather has always been so thick I never could see far southward," Aleck remarked.
"It's clear to-day," said Tug. "Let's go and take a look."
Inspired with hope, the two comrades, forgetful of everything else, hastened up the hillside, and soon reached the pinnacle of rocks that formed their lookout.
The air was clear, the sky cloudless, and the first glance southward showed them, faint upon the low horizon, yet distinct enough to be unmistakable, the long, dark line of the mainland. Between them and it all lay white, mixed with blue—a plain of ice covered with thin patches of rain-water. They could not see more than eight or ten miles; but in no direction except on the northern horizon (towards the centre of the lake) was there any sign of open water. They hoped, and this helped them to believe, that between them and the shore lay an unbroken plain of ice.
"If that is so," said Aleck, "and it will only come on cold before it snows, we could skate right across."
"Take us a couple of days, you'll find," Tug replied.