It was shortly after three o’clock when Bob, glancing out of the little window, first noticed that the sun was no longer visible.
“Guess we’d better be beating it back,” he announced, as he stepped to the door and threw it open. “Looks as though it might storm before night,” he said a moment later, as he came back into the room.
At the words Kernertok knocked the ashes from his pipe and went to the door.
“How about it, Kernertok?” Bob asked, as he came back.
“Look heap like storm. White boys better hurry unless stay all night,” the Indian replied, as he threw more wood on the fire.
“I wish we could, but Tom’ll be worried if we don’t get back so I guess we’d better go,” and they started pulling on their mackinaws.
A brisk wind was blowing as they fastened on their snow-shoes and bade their old friend goodbye, after they had made him promise them that he would meet them the following Saturday afternoon at the cabin and spend the week end.
“And don’t forget to bring Sicum,” Jack called back as they waved the old man goodbye.
“That wind’s coming from the northeast and unless I miss my guess we’re in for some snow before we get very far,” Bob prophesied as he cast an anxious glance at the sky.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” Jack agreed. “But we’ll have it at our back as soon as we get out on the lake.”