For an instant Jack stood as if paralyzed gazing at the hole in the ice. He was, for the moment, incapable of movement. Then his heart gave a leap of joy as he beheld Bob’s head emerge from the water. Higher and higher his head rose until he was standing only up to his waist in the water.
“Come on in. The water’s fine,” he shouted as he shook the water from his head.
Jack was still too frightened to laugh and suddenly started out on the ice toward Bob.
“Go on back,” the latter shouted. “There’s no use in you getting wet too. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
The ice gave way several times as he tried to climb out on to it, but at last it held and he was soon on the bank. Fortunately he had had presence of mind to throw his snow-shoes away from him when the ice broke and they were on the ice not far from the shore.
“Now you hustle and get into my bag while I get a fire going,” Jack ordered and Bob, his teeth chattering as with ague, hurried to obey. As quickly as possible he stripped off the wet clothes and crawled into the sleeping bag which Jack had ready for him.
“T-t-t-that water is c-c-c-old,” he chattered as he snuggled down in the bag.
“Well, I guess it has a right to be at this time of year,” Jack replied as he struck a match and applied it to a handful of birch bark.
Fortunately there was plenty of dead wood close at hand and in a very few minutes a roaring fire was crackling. Cutting two stout sticks Jack stuck them firmly in the snow and stretched a piece of strong cord between them making a serviceable clothesline. Then he undid Bob’s pack, which was of course, soaking wet, and, after wringing out as much of the water as possible, he hung them together with his clothes on the line.
“There, I guess they’ll dry pretty soon,” he declared as he came close to Bob, who was lying on the snow as near the fire as he dared get.