As there was but little to do that morning, Dave and Henry took their time in dressing. After breakfast they set about cleaning the wild turkeys and the rabbits. The feathers of the turkeys were saved and also the rabbits' skins, for all would come in useful, sooner or later, around the cabin home. "The wind is rising once more," remarked Joseph Morris in the middle of the afternoon, after a trip to the cattle shed, to see that the stock were safe. "It is blowing the snow in all directions." The boys had been out, trying to clean a path to the spring, but found their labors unavailing. So they filled a cask which stood in the pantry with water, that they might not fall short of this necessary commodity should they become completely snowed in. Nightfall was at hand, and the wind was whistling more fiercely than ever, when Henry chanced to go to the door, to see if the snow was covering the cattle shed. As he looked out he heard a faint cry. He listened intently and soon the cry was repeated. "Somebody is calling for help!" he exclaimed to the others. "Where?" asked Joseph Morris quickly, and reached for his hat and greatcoat. "I think the call came from yonder," answered the son, pointing in the direction. "Was it Sam Barringford's voice?" "I couldn't make out." "Perhaps some traveler has lost his way," put in Rodney. "We can go out and see," said Joseph Morris. He went to the doorway. "This way!" he shouted. "This way!" "Help!" came back faintly. "Help!" "We're coming!" Joseph Morris was soon out of the house, and James Morris followed him. Without delay Mrs. Morris lit the lantern and hung it outside of the doorway, that they might see their way back, and also placed a candle in the window. The fire was stirred up, so that the one in trouble might be warmed up and given something hot to drink. With the snow swirling in all directions around them, it was no easy matter for Joseph Morris and his brother to move forward to the spot from whence the cry for help had proceeded. In spots the snow lay three and four feet deep, and to pass through some of the drifts was out of the question. "Sam, is it you?" called out James Morris presently. "Yes!" was the feeble answer. "Where are you?" "Here, by the old split hickory. Jest about lost my wind, too." "We'll soon be with you," answered James Morris. There was a row of brushwood to the south of the split hickory tree, and in the shelter of this the Morrises moved forward as rapidly as possible. The keen wind cut like a knife, and they knew that it was this which had exhausted the old frontiersman they were trying to succor. Almost blinded, and nearly out of wind themselves, they at last reached the split tree, to find Sam Barringford crouched behind a mass of the snow-laden branches. He had a large pack on his back and also a bundle in his arms.