CHAPTER XII.

JACK BECOMES LOST.

“Dis am de most glorious trip wot ever was, by golly!” cried Pickles, as he shoved on ahead of the rest, dragging the sled behind him. “Dis coon is werry glad he is alibe jess about now, boys!”

And in the exuberance of his spirits, Pickles broke out into an old darky refrain about the history and death of a wonderful “Blue-tail Fly,” the chorus to which was so catchy that they were soon every one of them singing it.

“I’m glad he came along,” whispered Jack to Harry. “He’ll make days we can’t go out seem shorter.”

“So am I, Jack, Pickles is just the fellow for this crowd.”

The boys had received close directions concerning the best route to pursue to reach the lake, and they were careful that no mistake should be made. They followed a road almost half through what was called Jackson’s Run, and then struck off across a number of open fields to where a tiny stream ran at the foot of a long hill.

“That creek empties into Rock Island Lake,” said Boxy. “I know, for I was up here once in the summer, and my uncle told me so.”

“Then why can’t we follow the stream until we reach the lake,” suggested Andy.

“We could do that if it wasn’t that the stream winds around so much,” put in Jack. “In a direct line the lake is not over twelve miles from here, but like as not that stream would take us thirty or forty miles.”

“Not quite as far as that, but still a pretty good way,” said Harry. “I know these creeks around here twist and turn in all directions.”

“We’ll stick by the original intention, and be guided by the sun,” said Boxy. “Come on, Harry, I’ll race you to the top of the next hill!” and off he sped, with Harry at his heels.

When the top of the hill was reached both boys were well-nigh exhausted, and ready enough to sit down on a fallen tree and wait for the others to come up.

“You shouldn’t do that,” remonstrated Jack. “You’ll tire yourselves out before you have covered half the day’s journey.”

“And you’ll get sweated and take cold,” put in Andy.

“If you feel so frisky, help Pickles with the sled,” went on Jack.

“We will,” cried both Harry and Boxy, and they at once relieved Pickles, much to his satisfaction, for the pull up the hill had been by no means an easy one.

And so, “cutting up like wild Indians,” as Jack expressed it, they continued on their tramp, up one hill and down another, crossing half-a-dozen tiny streams, and making their way through dense woods and thick patches of brush and heaps of rocks. Occasionally they roused up a squirrel or a rabbit, and once the loud drumming told them that partridges were not far off.

Just before the noon hour Jack took his gun, and kept his eyes open for rabbits. It was not long before he shot two, and when they came to a halt for dinner these were quickly skinned and broiled over the fire Pickles kindled.

“We want to be as saving as possible with our stores,” observed Harry, as he sat, sucking the meat from a rabbit leg. “We may get snowed in so that we can’t get out to shoot a thing.”

“The first thing to do will be to lay in a supply of rabbits and squirrels,” returned Jack. “Then, if we get nothing better, we won’t starve, no matter what happens.”

“That’s a good idea!” cried Andy. “Rabbit meat is better than nothing, even if you have it three times a day.”

The meal finished, the things were quickly put away once more, and again the onward march was resumed.

The character of the country now changed somewhat. The hills became higher and harder to climb, and the undergrowth more rugged. More than once they had to turn back and seek another path because they could not get through without carrying the sled and its load. Once they came to a deep ravine, all of ten feet wide, with no crossing place in sight.

“Stumped!” cried Boxy. “Now what’s to be done?”

“Let’s walk along this side for a few hundred feet,” suggested Harry. “It may grow narrower further up.”

“I’ll stay here with the sled until you find out,” replied Jack, who had just taken hold. “It’s no use to pull it along, and then have to drag it back. If you find a place, yell out, and I’ll come.”

Harry and Boxy went on, accompanied by Pickles. It was no easy work to follow the edge of the ravine, for in several places the ice and snow were treacherous, and ready to let them slide down should they venture too close.

At last they reached a spot where the opening was scarcely five feet wide.

“We ought to be able to cross here,” said Boxy.

“Dat am so,” put in Pickles. “Why, I kin jump it, suah! See here!”

And he made a wild leap over, and disappeared into a hollow filled with snow on the other side.

“He’s gone!” shouted Boxy.

“He’s all right,” returned Harry, as he saw Pickles’ woolly head slowly emerging from the drift.

“By golly, I didn’t fink dat was so slopy heah!” sputtered the colored youth, as he stood up in snow to his waist. “If I hadn’t jumped so fah I’se dun reckon I would hab gone an’ rolled down to de bottom ob de crack suah!”

“That settles it; we can’t cross here,” said Harry. “Let us go on a bit further.”

They continued along the edge of the ravine, Pickles keeping up with them on the other side. Fifty feet further on the cut closed up almost entirely, and they easily stepped across.

“This beats running any risk jumping,” said Harry, and Pickles readily agreed with him.

All three of the boys set up a shout for the others, and it was not long before Jack and Andy appeared with the sled. The latter was lifted over the narrow opening, and then the club continued on its way, Pickles again bursting out into a song, this time singing about “Forms in White, a-Floating in de Sky.”

“Just now it was a case of a form in black a-floundering in the snow,” remarked Boxy to Harry, and the latter laughed heartily over the joke.

“We ought to be getting near to the lake now,” said Jack, about four o’clock in the afternoon.

“That’s so,” said Andy. “If we get there much later than this there will be no time left to build a shelter for the night.”

On and on they went, taking turns at dragging the sled with its heavy load. The sun was pretty well down, and it began to grow colder.

“The lake, at last!” suddenly burst from Boxy’s lips, and he ran ahead, quickly followed by the others.

Boxy was right. A short dash through a clump of trees, and they stood on the shore of Rock Island Lake. Before them was a broad expanse of glass-like ice, dotted here and there with long drifts of snow.

“Hurrah!” they all shouted, and Pickles added: “An’ dis ends de day’s trabbels ob de Zero Club.”

“Now for a good spot to pitch camp,” cried Jack. “I can’t say that I like it right here.”

“No; it’s too cold,” returned Harry. “Let’s go back a little, say a hundred feet or so, and find some sort of shelter behind some rocks.”

This was readily agreed upon, and the boys scattered in various directions, each trying to find a more suitable spot than the others.

Harry struck out up the lake shore a bit, and presently came to a spot where two immense rocks leaned against each other over a little gully, scarcely a yard deep and two yards wide. The gully was dry, and filled with leaves, and he thought that if the snow was cleared out and banked up in front, it would be just the place they desired. The opening under the rocks was about ten feet deep, and the rear was choked up with fallen branches, brush, and dirt.

He called to the others, and soon all but Jack were by his side.

“That’s the ticket!” cried Boxy. “We couldn’t find a better place made to order.”

“We can spread the rubber blankets over the leaves, and it will make good bedding,” said Andy.

“An’ dat dar snow will keep out all de cold,” put in Pickles. “Yes, de prize goes to Harry fo’ findin’ de right spot.”

“Where is Jack?” asked Harry, anxious to have all of the members of the club satisfied before it was settled to stay. “Maybe he has discovered a better spot.”

They all set up a shout, and waited for an answer. But none came. Then they shouted again, with the same result.

“That’s queer!” murmured Andy, somewhat disturbed. “Give him another call, boys, as loud as you can.”

They did so willingly, and Boxy added his imitation locomotive whistle as well.

It brought forth no reply. Jack was lost to them. What could have become of him?