"We can do it." Doctor Churchill was feeling among the robes at his feet. "I thought of it before we started, and put in a kerosene-can and some newspapers. Hatchet, too."
Just got out of the sleigh and waded away toward a thick growth of underbrush along the side of the road.
In ten minutes a roaring fire was leaping into the descending snowfall. A pile of brush and some broken fence-rails were left with Charlotte, the horses made as snug as possible, and then the two others jumped the fence and plunged off into the snow.
Guided by glimpses of the apparently fitful fire of the sleighing party, Doctor Churchill and Just made their way. Sometimes the course was comparatively free from drifts; again they had to wallow nearly to their waists.
"Confounded long way!" grunted Just. "Good thing we're both tough and strong. Except for Jeff, there aren't any athletes in the Houghton party."
"Don't I see somebody coming toward us?" Doctor Churchill asked, presently.
The snowfall was lightening again, and the small flame in the distance looked nearer. He put his hands to his mouth and gave a long, clear hail. He was answered by a similar one. Then followed a peculiar musical call, which Just, recognising, answered ecstatically.
"It's Jeff!" he shouted. "Whoop! I'll bet he's glad to hear us!"
He was. He came plunging through the last big drift toward them, a snow-encrusted figure. "Well, well!" he cried, in tones of pleasure and relief. "I knew you'd come. Where are we, anyhow?"
"A mile off the road. Are you all right? I see you've got a fire. How's--"