Raikes led the way down the center of the brook, between deep and gloomy woods. The chilling journey lasted for more than a mile. The water sometimes took the waders almost to their knees. Brick was heartily glad when the open lake came in sight. It was frozen hard against the shore.
The party pushed rapidly up the lake, evidently with a fixed destination in view. Here and there were great drifts of snow, but, for the most part, the ice was bare. The travelers left no trace behind them. Raikes bore the heavy sled as though it was a trifling burden.
About midafternoon, when the head of the lake was several miles distant, a lively snowgust came on. Raikes and Bogle held a short conversation.
Then they headed due east, across the lake. Before they tramped a mile the snow had turned to a steady fall of fine flakes. It quickly covered the ice to the depth of an inch. Raikes lowered the sled and trailed it behind him.
It was quite dark when the eastern shore of Chesumcook was reached—so dark that the forest was only a blurred blot against the night.
The snow was several inches deep, and still falling in a white, stealthy cloud. There was scarcely enough wind to stir the tops of the pine trees.
Brick had hoped that his captors would pitch camp here. He was hungry and tired, and his frosted feet ached with every step.
However, he was destined to disappointment. No doubt Raikes and Bogle were equally disposed to rest, but, nevertheless, they lit a lantern and plunged into the forest.
As before, Raikes took the lead, while Bogle followed on Brick’s heels. All wore their snowshoes again, and they traveled at a fair rate of speed.
Brick speedily lost all track of his bearings. For nearly two hours he followed the misty gleam of Raikes’ lantern—over hills, across open meadows, and through narrow ravines. The snow grew deeper and deeper, and at times it fairly blinded him. Then, without knowing how or when it began, he found himself threading the mazy windings of a vast, frozen marsh.