And how deep it was! How fast it had gathered! It actually amazed Dan and Billy that so much snow had banked up here in so short a time; for on the other side of the islands—between them and the river bank—there were but small, thin patches.
“There’s Island Number One!” shouted Billy, pointing ahead.
Dan shook his head at his brother and put a finger for a moment on his own lips in warning.
The Fly-up-the-Creek, at greatly reduced speed, crossed the open space between the two islands. They saw nothing of the missing Follow Me; but in a very few minutes their own craft staggered into a tiny cove and the runners plowed into a two-foot drift.
Dan dropped the canvas, and it came down stiffly and creakingly. Billy trampled it into some sort of a bundle on the main beam of the craft. He grumbled meantime:
“What are you doin’, Dan? We’ll never catch those fellows—never!”
“How about if they’re here?” queried Dan.
“Where’s the Follow Me?”
“We’ll look,” grunted Dan, stamping his feet and trying to slap some life into his numbed hands.
“This is some storm, Dan.”