west.

The change in their course brought them squarely into the eye of the
wind, and they felt the difference instantly. The breeze had risen to
half a gale; the whole sky had clouded. It was only an hour from
sunset, but no one mentioned camping; they were resolved to go on while
the light lasted. And suddenly Fred, struggling on with bent head
against the wind, saw that the front of his blue sweater was growing
powdered with white grains.

"We're caught, boys!" he exclaimed; and they stopped to look at the
menacing sky.

Snow was drifting down in fine powder, and glancing over the ice past
their feet. Straight down from the great Hudson Bay barrens the storm
was coming, and the roar of the forest, now that they stopped to
listen, was like that of the tempestuous sea.

"'Snow meal, snow a great deal,'" Macgregor quoted, with forced
cheerfulness.

"Let's hope not!" exclaimed Maurice.

And Fred added: "Anyhow, let's get on while we can."

On they went, skating fast. As yet the snow was no hindrance, for it
spun off the smooth ice as fast as it fell. It was the wind that
troubled them, for it roared down the river channel with disheartening
force.

It was especially discouraging to be checked thus on the last lap, but
none of them thought of giving up. They settled doggedly to the task,
although it took all their strength and wind to keep going. But all
three were in pretty good training, and they stuck to it for more than
an hour. The forest was growing dark, and the snow was coming faster.
Then Maurice, rather dubiously, suggested a halt.

"Nonsense! We're good for another ten miles, at least!" cried Peter,
who seemed tireless.

They shot ahead again. Evening settled early, with the snow falling
thick. The ice was white now; skates and toboggan left black streaks,
immediately obliterated by fresh flakes. Just before complete darkness
fell, the boys made a short halt, built a fire, and boiled tea. No
more was said of camping. They had tacitly resolved to struggle on as
long as they could keep going, for they knew that they would have no
chance to use their skates after that night.

It grew dark, but never pitch dark, for the reflection from the snow
gave light enough for them to see the road. Even yet the snow lay so
light that the blades cut it without an effort.

The wind, however, was hard to fight against. In spite of his amateur
championship, Fred was the first to give out. For so