Dimly, through the driving snow, they saw a pine crashing downward. Gathering speed, it snapped off limbs and branches from the surrounding trees, and struck the ground about twenty feet away with a sullen thud. Several rabbits suddenly appeared, leaping wildly over the snow.
Almost mechanically, Bob Somers raised his gun, and taking quick aim, fired both barrels. At the second report, one of the animals fell back in the snow.
"Glad I borrowed Tom Clifton's gun," said Bob. "With a rifle might have missed him." Then he added, as he walked over and picked up the rabbit, "It's blowing hard to carry down a tree like that."
"Another danger we have to look out for," yelled Hackett. "My eye! Suppose we had been in the way!"
Bob glanced apprehensively at the swaying trees, from which now and then a branch would snap off, to come hurtling through the air.
"I'm nearly frozen," growled Hackett, "and can hardly see." He struggled slowly ahead, occasionally forced to turn his back to the icy blasts. "We are in a bad fix, Somers," he went on. "What are we going to do?"
"Keep a stiff upper lip. It might be a great deal worse."
"I don't see it. Just as likely, we are going directly away from camp, and we can't stay out all night."
The boys slowed up and looked anxiously around, in an effort to make out their surroundings.
"We'll have to trust to luck, Somers, and keep moving," said Hackett.