It was the weird hoot of an owl uttered by a human throat, shrill with desperation, the signal call of the Owl Patrol—but with a violent note of distress in it such as to their ears had never sharpened it before.
“Gee whiz! Something’s wrong—something’s up! I’ll wager ’twas Nix Warren who hooted that time!”
Starrie Chase dropped his coral-laden branches upon the frozen ground.
“The Owls to the rescue!” he cried, and dashed toward the frozen river-bank.
CHAPTER XIII
THE BIG MINUTE
When Scouts Chase and Estey reached that frosty bank a confused scene met their eyes.
Before the tumble-down sheds some wildly terrified small boys were stumbling to and fro on the pale brink of the ice, floundering like river seals in their attempts to walk upon the skates which they were too distracted to remove, and shrieking at intervals:—