The bears were now evidently as much frightened as those who had been asleep, and tumbling against the rocks and the tree-roots they got out of the shelter and ran off along a stretch which the wind had swept clear of snow. The commotion made some dirt and snow fall on the fire, practically extinguishing it. “Stir up that fire, Pomeroy,” said James Morris, as soon as something like quietness had been restored. The man addressed did so and piled on some light brushwood, so that they might look around them. They found much in disorder, and soon made the discovery that the bears had carried off every pound of the meat. “They didn’t do it just now,” said Tony Jadwin. “They must have made two trips o’ it. Likely they didn’t get enough the first time. Drat the luck, anyway! We kin shoot some more venison, but we can’t git no bacon, an’ bacon is what I like best.” In those days deer meat was so plentiful among the hunters that many grew tired of eating it, just as many farmers to-day get tired of eating chickens. Had it been daylight some of the party would have been in favor of following the bears up and shooting them. But this was voted out of the question in the darkness, and so they retired once more, leaving one man, however, to remain on guard and attend to the fire. The next day the weather remained clear and the sun made the snow pack down a trifle, so that it became easier to walk on snowshoes. The route lay over several hills and then along a frozen watercourse where the ice was as smooth as glass. “You want to be careful here”, observed Pomeroy. “This ice ain’t so hard as it looks. We ain’t had much winter, outside o’ the snowstorm.” They followed the stream until they came to a bend, and then started to cross over. Tony Jadwin was in advance, when he heard a shout from Peaceful Jones. “A deer!” All looked and saw the deer, but a long distance off. Anxious to get a shot, Peaceful Jones started along the river bank on the icy snow. He had gone only a few steps, when they suddenly saw him throw up his hands and disappear from view. “Hello! What does that mean?” exclaimed James Morris. “Was he shot?” “Either thet or he went through a hole,” answered one of the other men. All brought their rifles around, ready for use, and then started toward the spot where the trapper had disappeared so suddenly. They saw a hole in the snow. “He is down there!” cried James Morris. “Come, we must get him out.” [Illustration: “I think we had better take turns watching,” said Henry.—_Page 49._] This was easier said than done. The hole was ten or twelve feet deep. The men on the surface of the snow joined hands, and thus held James Morris from falling in as the trader bent over the hole. Looking down, he could see Jones below, spluttering wildly. “Sa—sa—save me!” were his first words. The man was so chilled that he could do scarcely more than chatter. “We will,” answered James Morris.