d set off in the rain. We went
halfway to our knees at every step in the now soft, slushy snow. Addison
went ahead with the hatchet, spotting a tree every hundred feet or so,
and I followed in his tracks, carrying the basket and the gun. In
fifteen minutes we were wet to our skins.

For three or four miles we were uncertain of our course. The forest then
lightened ahead, and presently we came out on the shore of a small lake
that looked yellow over its whole surface.

"Good!" Addison exclaimed. "This must be Lone Pond, and see, away over
there is Birchboard Mountain. Boundary Camp is just this side of it. It
can't be more than four or five miles."

Skirting the south shore of the pond, we pushed on through fir and cedar
swamps. Worse traveling it would be impossible to imagine. Every hole
and hollow was full of yellow slush. Finally, after another two hours or
so of hard going, we came out on Lurvey's Stream about half a mile below
the camp, which was on the other bank. A foot or more of water was
running yellow over the ice; but the ice itself was still firm, and we
were able to cross on it.

Even before we came in sight of the camp, we smelled wood smoke.

"Halse is there!" I exclaimed.

"It may be trappers from over the line," Addison said. "Be cautious."

I ran forward, however, and peeped in at the little window. Some one was
crawling on the floor, partly behind the old camp stove, and I had to
look twice before I could make out that it was really Halstead. Then we
burst in upon him, and Addison said rather shortly, "Well, hunter, what
are you doing here?"

Halstead raised himself slowly off the floor beside the stove, stared at
us for a moment without saying a word, and then suddenly burst into
tears!

It was some moments before Halstead could speak, he was so shaken with
sobs. We then discovered that his left leg was virtually useless, and
that in general he was in a bad plight. He had been there for eight days
in that condition, crawling round on one knee and his hands to keep a
fire and to cook his food.

"But how did you get hurt?" Addison asked.

"That Alf did it!" Halstead cried; and then, with tears still flowing,
he went on to tell the story--his side of it.

While getting their breakfast on the third morning after they had
reached the camp, they had had a dispute about making their coffee; hard
names had followed, and at last, in high temper, Alfred had sprung up
declaring that he would not