With hands gripping the side of the canoe they crouched, waiting for the cake of ice to reach them. “Now!” Bob shouted, and on the instant both sprang for the ice, then turned and dragged the canoe after them. They were not a moment too soon for, as they drew the canoe from the water, the two floes met with a grinding crash. “Mighty close call that,” Bob gasped, as he gazed about. “Too close for comfort, but, thank God we made it,” Jack agreed. “But come on. There’s no time to lose. This ice looks mighty rotten to me, and that cake he’s on may be worse.” The cake on which they found themselves was a large one, fully a hundred feet across. A glance told them that between their cake and that on which the man sat was mostly open water; and, encouraged by the sight, they began dragging the canoe over the ice. To get it again in the water and to embark without swamping the frail craft took all their skill. But working carefully, they finally accomplished it and pushed off just as, with a loud crack, the big floe broke up into a dozen smaller ones. “Our lucky day all right,” Jack shouted, as he dug his paddle into the water. “Pray God it holds,” he added in a lower tone. They now made good time, as only occasionally did a small cake cause them to change their course, and in a few minutes they were only a few rods away from their destination. The stranded man had risen to his feet and as Jack raised his head he waved his arms vigorously. “Look, Bob,” the boy shouted, as he recognized the man. “It’s Jacques Lamont.” The words had hardly left his lips when a loud cracking sound reached their ears and, to their horror, the cake parted in the middle, and before the man had time to jump, the icy water had swallowed him. One moment he had been standing there waving his hand at them and the next he was gone. CHAPTER II TOWING By the time the boys had recovered from their first shock of horror, the space between the two halves of the ice floe had widened to several feet, and with powerful strokes they sent the canoe toward the lane of water. “It was about here,” Bob shouted, as he stopped paddling and swung the canoe around. At that moment the man’s head popped above the surface of the water only a few feet away. A few powerful strokes brought him quickly to the side of the canoe. “Jacques,” cried both boys, as the man seized the side of the canoe with his hand. “You come der right time, oui,” he said, his teeth chattering so that he could hardly speak. “Get in as quick as you can,” Bob ordered. Jacques Lamont was a large man and the canoe was small, barely large enough to carry three full-sized men. Under less skillful handling it would surely have upset, but the Frenchman knew just how to go about it, and the boys were but slightly less adept, and in almost no time he was in.