“Not just yet,” Joe replied. “I guess I’ll stay out and—and fall down awhile!”
The others went on, laughing, leaving Joe the sole occupant of the broad frozen surface. It had stopped snowing now, and there was a hint of color in the west that promised clearing. Joe started warily down the lake, keeping near the shore where the wind had freakishly swept the powdery snow from the ice and arranged it in long windrows whose shadowed hollows were purpling with the twilight. It was, he reflected, all well enough for Hal to tell him to have confidence, but—here Joe’s arms described a windmill sweep in the air and he narrowly escaped a tumble—how could you have confidence when you just went off your feet every time you tried to skate faster than a walk? There was, though, a good deal of persistent courage in his make-up, and he kept on, rather more confident perhaps because he was safe from observation. He rounded the turn and could see, far ahead, the little bridge that spanned the outlet. As he floundered on, awkwardly but with grim determination, he passed the empty, shuttered cabins. They looked lonesome and eerie in the gathering shadows, and he recalled with a little nervous thrill the visit of the Sheriff and his mission.
Back in the camp, Hal aroused the smouldering fire in the chimney place and he and Bert, having removed their damp mackinaws and damper boots, drew chairs to the fire and sank luxuriously into them. “Funny about Joe,” observed Bert, after a silence. “You’d think a fellow as old as he is—sixteen, isn’t he?—would have learned to skate better.”
“That’s so,” Hal agreed. “He can do other things though.”
“Sure,” said Bert, grinning. “Like cooking.”
“Yes, and—say, Bert, I wonder if we’re putting it on him a bit. Making him do the cooking. Maybe we ought to take turns.”
“I don’t believe he minds,” answered the other, comfortably. “Besides, neither of us could do it, I guess. There he comes now. Let’s hope he hasn’t busted any of his arms or legs!”
But it wasn’t Joe who threw open the door and entered. It was a stranger. And it was a second stranger who entered on his heels and closed the door behind him. They were an unattractive couple; one small, wiry, smirking; the other thickset, dark-visaged and scowling. They wore thick woolen sweaters under their jackets, but their shoes were thin and it wasn’t difficult to surmise that when they continued their journey they would be more appropriately clad for the weather, and at the expense of the occupants of the camp. Neither of the boys had a moment’s doubt as to the identity of the visitors. The Sheriff’s story was too fresh in their minds. It was Hal who found his voice first and gave them a dubious “Hello!”
The men waived amenities, however, and the big one spoke. “Say, kids, we’re hikin’ down to Weston an’ we’re sort of up against it. Get me? We ain’t had nothin’ to eat since mornin’ an’ we’re fair perishin’. We seen the smoke an’ come over to see could we get a snack.”