“About how long is it?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “But from the map I should say that it was ten or fifteen miles. These maps are not much good when it comes to estimating distance.”
“Well, I guess we go up the left side don’t we?” Jack asked.
“I should say so,” Bob replied studying the map. “If this map gives the right shape of the lake it would be quite a lot out of our way to go around that point on the right side.”
They had made seven or eight miles more, keeping the lake in sight the most of the time when, suddenly, they came to a large stream, still covered with ice. As is apt to be the case there was but little snow over the ice.
“Suppose that ice’ll hold?” Jack asked as he stopped on the bank.
“Looks pretty good, but you never can tell this time of year. Let me try it first,” Bob said as he started to take off his snow-shoes.
“Not much, you won’t,” Jack replied as he hastily kicked off his shoes and started across the ice heedless of Bob’s orders to wait.
Jack had reached the other bank in safety when he heard a loud crash and a frightened cry. He turned and, for an instant, his heart stopped beating. Bob was nowhere in sight, but a large hole in the ice near the middle of the stream, told only too plainly what had become of him.