about to discharge it to leeward,
when, from the very air above their heads, a voice seemed to call on
them by name, "La Salle, Charley, Peter, ahoy!"

La Salle dropped the butt of his gun, and listened. Again the voice
sounded apparently nearer than before. "Charley, Peter, ahoy!"

"That voice ole man Lund. I know it; but what for sposum voice there?
Then track go that way. Ole man lose way, spose."

"Perhaps he has fallen in, Peter. Come, let's go."

And catching a rope near him, and forgetting to lay down the cumbrous
gun, Charley ran towards the incessant and evidently-agonized cries,
Peter following with an axe and a light fish-spear.

Scarcely had the runners gone a hundred yards before they stopped in
dismay. At their feet the ice-field ended abruptly, and scarce a hundred
yards away rose a wall of red sandstone, on whose summit stood Lund,
peering down into the whirl of snow-flakes. His quick eye espied them,
and he shouted his last advice.

"Launch your boat at once; don't wait. Keep under the lee. Don't try to
save anything but your lives. Keep the wind at your backs in rowing, and
mind the set of the tide eastward."

"Ay, ay! I understand. We're waiting for the boys!" shouted La Salle.

"I can't hear a word," called out Lund across the rapidly-increasing
space.

"Give me that spear, Peter," said La Salle.

And snapping off the tiny barbs, he drew from his pocket a pencil, and
wrote as follows on the slender rod of white maple:--

"We know our danger, but have no oars; for the boys have not
returned. Unless they do so soon, shall stick to the ice until the
weather clears. Look for us along the coast if the storm lasts.

"Love to all. LA SALLE."

Holding up the rod to be seen by Lund, he placed it in the muzzle of his
piece, and motioned to the captain to watch its flight. The pilot
stepped behind a tree, and La Salle aimed at the face of a large
snow-drift near him. The report echoed amid the broken ledges, the long
white arrow sped through the air, and stuck in the snow close to the
tree. Lund picked it up, and bent over it a moment; then bowed his head,
as if assuring them of his approval of its contents.

Already the floe had moved into rough water, and the short waves raised
by the increasing gale began to throw their spray far up on the ice. The
snow-squall gathered fury, and La Salle, waving his hand, pointed
heavenward, while Peter, knowing but too well the danger