Three boys descended from the afternoon train, dragging after them duffle bags, blanket rolls and bundles until, as the four-car train took up its slow and seemingly painful journey again, they were fairly surrounded. The half dozen witnesses of the exciting event surveyed the three arrivals silently, unblinkingly for a space and then returned to the interrupted routines of their lives, dispersing at various angles across the snowy expanse that represented North Pemberton’s principal business street. Leaving his companions on guard Hal Norwin followed, directing his steps toward a rambling white building with blue doors and window frames bearing the faded legend “Timkins’ Livery Stable.” The agent disappeared into the station, closing the waiting room door behind him with a most inhospitable-sounding bang. Bert Madden yawned and then settled his chin more snugly into the upturned collar of his mackinaw. “Nice lively sort of a dump,” he observed.
Joe Kenton smiled. “How far is it to the camp,[117] Bert?” he asked. The sudden jangling of sleigh bells broke the silence and both boys turned toward the stable. A man in an old bearskin coat was leading a horse through the doorway and Hal was holding up the shafts of a double sleigh.
“Eight miles, I think he said,” answered Bert. “Gee, we’ll never get all this truck in that sleigh!”
But they did, and themselves and the driver as well, and ten minutes later they were jingle-jangling along the narrow road, the runners creaking on the firm snow, leaving North Pemberton behind. The old blankets and fur robes under which the boys nestled were warm enough for a much colder day, and the bags and bundles, piled about them, added to the warmth. The sun was setting beyond Little Rat and Big Rat Mountains, and the western sky was aglow. Presently, climbing the slight grade between Little Rat and Marble Mountains, they crossed a rude bridge, under which a stream gurgled beneath a canopy of ice.
“Is that Rat Brook?” asked Hal.
“Glover’s,” answered the driver. He pointed his whip to the left. “Rat’s over there about a mile or so. Glover’s comes out of it further along.”
“Oh, yes,” assented Hal, his voice muffled by the flap of his collar, “I remember now. Rat Brook crossed the other road, the one toward Burton.” The driver nodded, spoke to the horse and flicked[118] his whip harmlessly. “I should think,” pursued Hal, “that the other road would be the shortest.”
“Yep, about a mile, but this road’s easier. Too many hills that way. Only one on this road, and that’s just behind us. Get ap, Judy!”
Coming around the northern shoulder of Little Rat, they found the sunset gone and the long purple shadows of evening stalking across the floor of the little valley. Big Rat loomed beyond, wooded and dark. Hal pointed westward. “Old Forge Pond’s over there,” he said. The boys in the back seat looked, but there was nothing to see save a rather flat forest of new growth maples and oaks and birches. Then, suddenly, as they turned on the winding road, a streak of tarnished silver met their gaze for an instant and was swiftly swallowed up by the trees.
“That was Rat Brook,” Hal informed them. “If we followed it we’d come out at the lower end of the pond. It wouldn’t be more than three miles, I guess.”
“Thanks,” said Bert, “I’m quite comfy as I am. There’s only one thing troubling me, Hal. When do we eat?”
“Just as soon as we can,” laughed Hal. “We’ll get there in about three quarters of an hour, I guess.” He looked to the driver for confirmation, but the furwrapped figure failed to commit himself.[119] “Then we’ll fix up a bit and Joe can start supper.”
“Me!” exclaimed Joe startledly. “Gee, Hal, I can’t cook!”
Hal chuckled. “Well,” came from the front seat, “you’ll be able to do all the cooking we’ll need to-night, Joe. I guess some cold grub, with a cup of hot tea, will answer.”
There was a faint groan of protest from Bert, but Joe relaxed again, relieved. They came to a corner and turned left on a broader and more traveled road. “Turnpike,” announced the driver. “Lineville about nine miles.” He flicked his whip northward. Then, after awhile, the woods on their left gave way to meadow and Hal shouted: “There she is!” And there she was, indeed, “she” being a curving, mile-long expanse of frozen lake, nestling under the upreaching slope of Little Rat. Here and there along the further shore small camps nestled under snow-powdered pines or leafless hardwood, four or five in all, deserted, every one. There had been several snow-falls up here in the hills already—to-day was the twenty-seventh of December—but they had been light, and the surface of the lake had been swept clean by the wind after each flurry. The driver said he guessed there was a good four inches of ice there, and the boys rejoiced.
“Great,” said Bert. “That’s more than enough to skate on and we won’t have to cut through much to fish.”
[120]
“You aimin’ to fish?” inquired the driver. There was a tolerant note in his voice that caused Hal to assume that he thought they’d be wasting their time. But no, he guessed they’d catch some pickerel if they were lucky. “I couldn’t ever see any fun in freezin’ my feet that way, though,” he added.
“Well, it is rather cold weather,” laughed Hal, “but if we build a good fire on shore it’s not so bad.”
The driver grunted doubtfully and the sleigh swung from the turnpike into a narrow lane that wound between pine and spruce. The branches sometimes flicked their faces and spattered dry snow about them. The lake came into sight again close beside them, its darkening surface seeming now like a great sheet of shimmering metal. Then the jingling bells ceased and there, in a small clearing, stood the camp, its modest bulk silhouetted against the ice. A rustic sign overhung a little path that led down to the cabin, and on it the word RESTHERE was printed.
Followed a busy five minutes during which the bags and rolls and packages were carried to the cabin and the driver accepted his modest fee of three dollars, promised faithfully to return for them four days later and climbed back to his seat. There, having pulled three of the robes about him and gathered his reins in hand, he paused to cast a dubious look about the twilit surroundings.
[121]
“Mean to stay here all alone?” he asked.
“Sure,” agreed Hal.
“H-m,” said the man. “Well, every fellow to his taste. Too blamed lonesome to suit me, though. Good evenin’. Get ap, Judy!”
The cabin was of boards and battens an............