Part 24 (1/2)

”Get the door open, Dave,” called d.i.c.k.

Darrin unbarred the door, trying to swing it open. Tom Reade sprang to his aid, for the bottom of the door was frozen to the sill.

”Bring the hot water, Hen,” called Reade.

”Get it yourself,” grumbled Hen. But when Tom turned, and Hen saw his face, the latter made haste to bring the tea-kettle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: d.i.c.k Plied His Shovel Vigorously.]

”I'd better pour the water,” proposed Tom, taking the kettle. ”d.i.c.k, you and Dave begin to yank on the door as soon as you see the hot stream trickling on below.”

Reade made economical use of the water, yet it took considerable pouring to loosen up the door at the sill.

”Better go slow with that water,” warned Dutcher. ”It's the last there is in the place.”

”Humph!” retorted Tom. ”Once we get outside I guess we can dig our way to the spring.”

At last the door yielded and swung open. A ma.s.s of snow blew in upon them. d.i.c.k leaped at the white wall beyond and began plying his shovel vigorously.

”It's light, and can be easily handled,” he called back over his shoulder.

So Dave waited until d.i.c.k had made a start of three or four feet. Then he moved out beside his chum, while Greg, the iron shovel in hand, stood at hand waiting for the other two to make room enough for him to be able to help them.

b.u.mp! went the door, for those inside, without coats or exercise, felt the cold that rushed into the cabin.

”Where to?” called Dave, for the wind carried their voices off in the howling blast. ”To the spring?”

”We'd better,” d.i.c.k replied, ”as we're out of water.”

Between the depth of the snow and the fury of the storm the Grammar School boys quickly discovered that they had taken a huge task upon themselves. After more than ten minutes of laborious shoveling all three paused, as by common consent, and looked at the work accomplished. They had gone barely a dozen feet, and under foot, all the way back to the cabin door, the snow was still some two feet deep.

The distance from the door to the spring being some ninety feet, it was plain that more than an hour would be needed for digging the way to the spring.

”What's the use of all this trouble?” shouted Greg. ”We can melt snow, anyway.”

”Snow water doesn't taste very good,” objected Dave Darrin.

”Besides, we don't want to admit ourselves stumped by a little snow,”

urged d.i.c.k. ”Come on, fellows; we can make it if we have grit and industry enough. Here goes!”

With that d.i.c.k Prescott began to shovel harder than ever, so the two chums added their efforts. Truth to tell, however, ere they had gone another six feet through the big drifts, their backs were aching. They could have progressed more rapidly, but for the fact that the wind blew much of the snow back into the trench they were cutting through the great banks of white stuff.

”Are we going to make it?” asked Dave dubiously at last.

”We've got to,” d.i.c.k retorted.

”The other fellows ought to come out and help us,” proposed Greg.

”That's not a very bad idea, either,” d.i.c.k agreed, as he started shoveling once more. ”Greg, go back and tell them what we want.”