The young hunters soon found out that what Joel Runnell said was true. At first glance it looked easy enough to put the necessary shelter into shape, but when it came to clearing and leveling the ground, cutting off a great many tree branches and placing them as desired, and then covering the whole with snow, the work was hard and long lasting, and it was not until the evening of the second day that the task was completed. Yet all worked with a will, deeming it no labor at all, since they were doing it for their own comfort and amusement. “Say, Fred, if you had to cut wood like this at home, what would you think of it?” whispered Harry, while both were doing their best to trim away an extra heavy limb of one of the pines. “I’d think it was ha—hard work,” panted Fred, who was almost out of breath. “And wouldn’t you like to do it some Saturday afternoon, when there was a football match on, or fine skating?” “My gracious! don’t mention it, Harry. It would make a fellow’s heart drop to his shoes.” “No laying off there!” sang out Joe. “This gang has got to keep at work until the job’s finished and I blow the whistle.” “Better ring the dinner bell,” put in Bart. “I’m almost hungry enough to chew—oh!” Bart broke off with an exclamation, for just then a soft snowball hit him directly in the back of the neck. He turned swiftly, to catch sight of Fred working away, with an extra innocent look on his chubby face. “Oh, you needn’t play off on me!” he cried. “I know you did it, Fred.” “Did what?” asked Fred, continuing his work. “I’m cutting tree branches. What are you doing?” “This,” continued Bart, and let drive with a snowball that took Fred on the shoulder. “Hi! hi! stop that!” was the cry, and then Fred aimed another snowball. But it flew past Bart and hit Link in the left ear. “Oh, my ear!” came with a roar, and Link began to dance around. “Fred Rush, I’ll wash your face for that!” He made a drive for Fred, but the latter scrambled to the top of the cliff, where Joe was at work. In another moment the young hunters were having a lively snowball fight. By chance one ball hit Joel Runnell in the stomach. “Hi! I’m not in this!” cried the old hunter. “Stop it, boys, stop it!” But nobody would listen to him. Fast and furious flew the snowballs in all directions, and almost before he knew it Joel Runnell was hit again. Then he joined in the sport. As he was at the top of the cliff and used only huge chunks of loose snow those below had to steer clear of being buried alive. “Want to snowball me, do ye!” he cried cheerily. “All right, come along! But take care or the old man will go ye one better! Stand from under!” And down came a chunk of snow as big as a feather bolster. It struck Link’s head and hurled him flat on his back. But Link soon rallied and hit old Runnell in the leg and in the back.