They had made seven or eight miles more, keeping the lake in sight the most of the time when, suddenly, they came to a large stream, still covered with ice. As is apt to be the case there was but little snow over the ice. “Suppose that ice’ll hold?” Jack asked as he stopped on the bank. “Looks pretty good, but you never can tell this time of year. Let me try it first,” Bob said as he started to take off his snow-shoes. “Not much, you won’t,” Jack replied as he hastily kicked off his shoes and started across the ice heedless of Bob’s orders to wait. Jack had reached the other bank in safety when he heard a loud crash and a frightened cry. He turned and, for an instant, his heart stopped beating. Bob was nowhere in sight, but a large hole in the ice near the middle of the stream, told only too plainly what had become of him. CHAPTER VII THE END OF THE TRAIL For an instant Jack stood as if paralyzed gazing at the hole in the ice. He was, for the moment, incapable of movement. Then his heart gave a leap of joy as he beheld Bob’s head emerge from the water. Higher and higher his head rose until he was standing only up to his waist in the water. “Come on in. The water’s fine,” he shouted as he shook the water from his head. Jack was still too frightened to laugh and suddenly started out on the ice toward Bob. “Go on back,” the latter shouted. “There’s no use in you getting wet too. I’ll be with you in a minute.” The ice gave way several times as he tried to climb out on to it, but at last it held and he was soon on the bank. Fortunately he had had presence of mind to throw his snow-shoes away from him when the ice broke and they were on the ice not far from the shore. “Now you hustle and get into my bag while I get a fire going,” Jack ordered and Bob, his teeth chattering as with ague, hurried to obey. As quickly as possible he stripped off the wet clothes and crawled into the sleeping bag which Jack had ready for him. “T-t-t-that water is c-c-c-old,” he chattered as he snuggled down in the bag. “Well, I guess it has a right to be at this time of year,” Jack replied as he struck a match and applied it to a handful of birch bark. Fortunately there was plenty of dead wood close at hand and in a very few minutes a roaring fire was crackling. Cutting two stout sticks Jack stuck them firmly in the snow and stretched a piece of strong cord between them making a serviceable clothesline. Then he undid Bob’s pack, which was of course, soaking wet, and, after wringing out as much of the water as possible, he hung them together with his clothes on the line. “There, I guess they’ll dry pretty soon,” he declared as he came close to Bob, who was lying on the snow as near the fire as he dared get. “How are you feel—” he started to ask but before he could finish a big lump rose in his throat, and, bending over his brother, the boy burst into tears.