“At this end of that pool. I saw him move. Look quick!”
For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied that pool. “Yes,” he exclaimed at last, “he is there! I saw him move over to the right.”
“Lawrence!” Johnny’s voice was tense with emotion. “I’m going after him!”
Johnny bent over to tighten a skate strap. “Here! Give me the bag. You follow me, but not too fast. You can keep the glasses. I won’t need them.”
“Al—all right, Johnny. Be careful! You—”
But Johnny was away. Skating from the hips, scarcely lifting a foot from the ice, he appeared to glide without effort over the glass-like surface of the river.
The boy’s spirits rose. They were “after him again.” And “he” was a grand prize indeed.
“If only we can get him,” Johnny was thinking. “If we only can.”
The distant future quite forgotten, Johnny was living intensely in the glorious present. Lawrence followed slowly. He, too, was a skillful skater. The river at this point was frozen solidly. No need for thought here. At once his mind was busy with memories of the not-too-distant past and plans for the future.
Life for him had been strange. Eight months before he had been on the broad, dry prairies of the Dakotas. Now he was skating on the Matanuska River in Alaska. Nor was this just an adventurous winter trip. The Matanuska Valley was his home and would be, he hoped, for years to come. Six miles back and up a half mile from the river was their claim and the sod-covered log cabin they called home.