"There's a light in the cabin, so we might as well get ready," added Sam Randall, rising to his feet.
The Stony Creek hunters soon drew up alongside the blazing fire.
"Evenin'! You fellers goin' over now? Piker's gang is there," said Musgrove. "A bully night, too, fur skatin'," he added.
The full moon gleamed brightly from a cloudless sky, sending the shadows of the dark trees in a delicate tracery over the foreground. The huts were edged with light, while beyond stretched a pale, ghostly expanse of snow, broken here and there by dark patches of trees and underbrush. Overhead, a few bright stars sparkled upon the field of blue.
"Big crowd of us, isn't there?" said Tom Clifton, with a glance over his shoulder, as all started for the lake.
"Sure," replied Sladder; "with Bowser, it makes ten. Guess there won't be much room in that there cabin when all of us gits inside."
"Race, Wackett?" grinned Musgrove, as the crisp whirr of the steel rang out.
"Do you think I want to break my neck? A fellow might run across an air hole or thin spot somewhere. Daytime for me. And say, Mushroom"—Hackett's voice betrayed a trace of impatience—"you won't talk so much about racing after the next time."
"Huh—what's the reason I won't?"
"You'll find out. I'll have the Stony Creek championship dangling from my belt before long, eh, Nat?" and Hackett playfully poked his chum in the ribs.