"Wall, then," the old captain continued, "we'll consider the course a straight line to thet 'ere stump, and then, roundin' that, straight off to thet other healthier tree up thar," indicating a point fully three hundred yards north of the dead cedar, "and then straight back here."
The twenty young men began lacing on the snowshoes which Archie and the captain had brought with them.
"Ye can make any other conditions ye want," the latter added, "but if I'm not mistaken thet'll take ye some time—an' prove yer mettle."
It was not until later that they realized why he chuckled so after making this final remark. They went ahead with their preparations. Some of the youths had had considerable experience in snowshoeing; others had never had a pair upon their feet. It is safe to say, however, that none of them ever set out upon such a trip with them before.
As they stood in line ready for the start, the old whaling captain uttered his final admonition. "Around thet old stump, remember, and from there up to thet big tree, then home. An' remember thet old rule of 'rithmetic—the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Straight from thet stump to the tree." He looked at Dr. Vorhees, gave a sly wink which none but that individual saw, and a moment later the lumbering men were off.
For the first five minutes the going was not hard, although for the inexperienced there were unsuspected difficulties and time after time one or another of them, placing the desire for speed above caution, got suddenly stuck, and then of natural momentum went headlong into the mud, at the same time experiencing sudden and disconcerting stretching and straining of the muscles and tendons of their legs.
In the next ten minutes it became a straggling line, with the more expert in the lead, the novices laboring along with many a grunt of surprise and disgust, but all staying gamely in the contest, in spite of all the unexpected handicaps it developed.
But as the three leaders in the race reached and rounded the old stump they became suddenly and painfully aware of the trick which the shrewd old whaler had played upon them. These leaders were Big Jack Carew, the unpopular Henryson, and a navigator named George Boardman. Behind them the long and irregularly progressing line was a ludicrous manifestation of human determination and endeavor, under the most unexpected forms of surprises and handicaps; for the course, even over its first leg, was not merely a stretch of muddy field, but an uninterrupted succession of treacherous hidden bogs and marshes, whose surfaces were apparently but patches of juicy mud.
Around the stump, however, the character of the course became even worse, and it wasn't long before those in the lead realized that they were in reality treading the bed, or rather channel, of a recently-formed miniature creek.