"That's about all, Harry," was the superintendent's reply. "Just rest a minute to get your breath, and then we'll make a dash for it."
For a little space they stood still and silent, the mind of each absorbed in anxious thought, and then Mr. Maynard called out,—
"Come along now, Harry. Keep right in my tracks, and I'll see if I can't make the shore all right."
For half-an-hour they toiled steadily onward, and well it was for both that they had such skill in the use of snow-shoes. Without them they could not have made a hundred yards' headway, so heavy was the snow. Even as it was, the hard work told upon Harry, and presently he had to call to his companion,—
"Hold on a minute, Mr. Maynard; I'm out of breath."
The superintendent stopped short and came back to him.
"Not played out already, are you, Harry?" he asked, peering anxiously into his face.
"Oh, no!" and the boy made a gallant effort at a reassuring smile. "I just want to get my wind; that's all. This abominable storm nearly suffocates me."
As they rested again for a few minutes, the wind suddenly shifted, parting the whirling snow to right and left, and through the rift thus made, Mr. Maynard's keen eyes caught a glimpse of a dark mass rising dimly into the air a little more than a mile away.
With a shout of joy he slapped his companion upon the back, crying,—