"We'll have to work carefully," said Barney, starting forward. "The ice is pretty well shattered. A plunge in that water, and the temperature at thirty below, wouldn't be pleasant, but I believe we can save every one of them. Get a pole." He began cutting a large branch from a spruce tree. Bruce followed his example.
"Now!" Barney exclaimed, preparing to slide down the bank. But he paused in surprise. The snow-bank, shattered by the blast, had gone tumbling down to the surface of the lake. And what was that protruding above what remained of the snow? It was dark and V-shaped, like the gable of a roof.
Barney was for investigating at once, but Bruce was more practical; the fish must be secured immediately. This food might yet stand between them and starvation.
They were soon whipping the pool with their poles, and, as the fish came to the ice edge, they gathered them in. Some were monsters, two or three feet in length. It was, indeed, a great haul. They piled them on the ice like cord-wood. Already they were freezing; they would remain fresh for months.
CHAPTER VI
THE RACE IS ON
"And now for the lakeside secret," exclaimed Barney, tossing the last fish upon the pile, and throwing his frosty pole aside.
Eagerly Bruce sprang to his feet. Together they raced around the pool. Clambering over the tumbled avalanches of snow, they were soon within sight of the strange triangle. Barney's heart beat fast. What was it? Could it be only a bit of bent timber lodged there on the log-roof of a long-abandoned Indian shack? Or was it—was it what he knew Bruce hoped it might be—a supply-house for gasoline, or perhaps a motor-boat with a supply of gasoline on board?
Excitedly they attacked the piles of snow. Lacking shovels, they worked with hands and feet. Hope grew with every kick and scoop. This was no mere bit of timber, nor yet an abandoned shack; it was too recently built to leave a doubt about that. And now they had reached the top of the door.
"I say we've found it," panted Bruce, redoubling his efforts.