Bert Bobbsey felt very proud of himself after he had driven away the wildcat with snowballs. And I think he had a right to be proud. Not many boys of his age would have dared to stand and await the oncoming of a beast that is quite dangerous once it starts to claw and bite. But Bert had spent so much time in the woods and out in the open that he was very self-reliant.

And so, after looking back once or twice as he left the clearing, and finding that the bobcat did not follow, Bert began to feel much better.

“I’ll soon be at Cedar Camp,” he said to himself, “and then I’ll be all right. I’ll send ’em back to get Nan and take something to eat to Mrs. Bimby. I’ll be glad to see Flossie and Freddie again.”

Had Bert only known it, Flossie and Freddie were nearer to him than if they had been in Cedar Camp, though the small Bobbsey twins were still some distance from their brother.

And while Mr. Bobbsey was forging ahead through the snow with Old Jim Bimby and Tom Case, knowing nothing, of course, about his little boy and girl having followed him, Mrs. Bobbsey was having worries of her own about the absence of the small children from the cabin.

She and Mrs. Baxter had missed Flossie and Freddie soon after the men had started on the searching trip, but, for a time, the mother of the two small twins was not at all worried. She thought Flossie and Freddie had merely run out to play a little, as it was the first chance they had had since the big storm began.

But when, after a while, they had not come back to the cabin, and she could see nothing of them, Mrs. Bobbsey said:

“Mrs. Baxter, have you seen Flossie and Freddie?”

“No, Mrs. Bobbsey, I haven’t,” answered the cook. “But it looks as if they had been in the pantry, for things there are all upset.”

Mrs. Bobbsey looked around the kitchen and pantry, and she at once guessed part of what had happened.

“They’ve packed up lunch for themselves,” she said to the housekeeper, “and they’ve gone out to play. Well, they’ll be all right as long as they stay around here and it doesn’t storm again. I’ll go and look for them in a few minutes.”

But when she did look and call Flossie and Freddie, they were not to be found. Indeed, they were more than a mile away by this time, and they had just met Rover, as I have told you.

“I’m glad Rover’s with us, aren’t you, Freddie?” asked Flossie, as they made ready to set off again, after having eaten their lunch.

“Lots glad,” answered the little boy. “Mrs. Bimby will be glad to see him, I guess.”

Indeed Mrs. Bimby, left alone with Nan after Bert had gone out, would have been glad to see almost anyone. For she was worried because her husband was away and because there was so little left in the house to eat, only she did not want to tell Nan so. And she did not think she could shoot another rabbit, as Bert had done.

“I do hope that boy will find my Jim or someone and bring help,” thought Mrs. Bimby.

And of course Mr. Bobbsey with Old Jim and Tom Case were on their way to the cabin, but they had to go slowly on account of so much snow.

The snow was worse for Flossie and Freddie than for any of the others in the woods, because the legs of the small twins were so short. It was hard work for them to wade through the drifts. But they felt a little better after their rest under the “Christmas tree,” as Flossie called it, and after they had eaten some of their lunch. So on they trudged again.

“Maybe we can find daddy’s lost Christmas trees,” suggested Freddie, after a while.

“Wouldn’t he be glad if we did?” cried Flossie. “Here, Rover! Come back!” she called, for the dog was running too far ahead to please her and Freddie.

The dog came racing back, scattering the snow about as he plunged through it, and Flossie patted his shaggy head.

“Don’t you think we’ll find daddy pretty soon?” asked Flossie, after she and Freddie had trudged on for perhaps half an hour longer. “I’m getting tired in my legs.”

“So’m I,” her brother admitted. “I wish we could find ’em. But if we don’t, pretty soon, we’ll go back, ’cause I think it’s going to snow some more.”

Indeed, the sky seemed to be getting darker behind the veil of snow clouds that hung over it, and some swirling flakes of white began sifting down.

Freddie came to a stop and looked about him. He was tired, and so was Flossie. The only one of the party who seemed to enjoy racing about in the drifts was Rover. He never appeared to get tired.

“I guess maybe we’d better go back,” said Freddie, after thinking it over. “We haven’t much left to eat, and I guess daddy can tell Mrs. Bimby about the bear skin to keep her warm.”

“I guess so,” agreed Flossie. “It’s going to be night pretty soon.”

It would be some hours until night, however, and the darkness was caused by gathering storm clouds, but Flossie and Freddie did not know that. They turned about, and began to go back along the way they had come. At least they thought they were doing that, but they had not gone far before Flossie said:

“Freddie, we’ve come the wrong way.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“’Cause we aren’t stepping in our own tracks like we would be if we went back straight.”

Freddie looked at the snow. It was true. There was no sign of the tracks they must have made in walking along. Before this they had known which way they were going. Now they didn’t.

“We—we’re lost!” faltered Flossie.

“Oh, maybe not,” said Freddie as cheerfully as he could. But still, when he realized that they had not walked along their back track, he knew they must be going farther into the woods, or at least away from Cedar Camp.

“Oh, I don’t like to be lost!” wailed Flossie. “I want to go home!”

Freddie did too, but he hoped he wouldn’t cry about it. Boys must be brave and not cry, he thought.

But as the little Bobbsey twins stood there, not knowing what to do, it suddenly became colder, the wind sprang up, and down came a blinding storm of snow, so thick that they could not see Rover, who, a moment before, had been tumbling about in the drifts near them.

“Oh! Oh!” cried Flossie. “Let’s go home, Freddie!”

But where was “home” or camp? How were they to get there?

And so, soon after Bert had driven off the wildcat and had run on, this Bobbsey lad, too, was caught in the same snow storm that had frightened Flossie and Freddie. But of course Bert did not know that.

“Say, we’ve had enough snow for a winter and a half already,” thought Bert, as he saw more white flakes coming down. “And it isn’t Christmas yet! I hope I’m not going to be snowed in out here all alone! I’d better hurry!”

As Bert trudged along through the storm he found himself becoming thirsty. If you have ever walked a long distance, even in a snowstorm, you may have felt the same way yourself. And perhaps you have tried to quench your thirst and cool your mouth by eating snow. If you have, you doubtless remember that instead of getting less thirsty you were only made more so. This is what always happens when a person eats snow. Ice is different, if you hold pieces of it in your mouth until it melts.

“My! I wish I had a drink,” exclaimed Bert, speaking aloud, as he had done a number of times since setting out alone to bring help to Nan and Mrs. Bimby. “I wish I had a drink of water!”

Now Bert Bobbsey knew better than to eat dry snow. Once when he was a small boy, smaller even than Freddie, he had been playing out in the snow and had eaten it whenever he felt thirsty. As a result he had been made ill.

“Never eat snow again, Bert,” his father had told him at the time. And to make Bert remember Mr. Bobbsey had read the boy a story of travelers in the Arctic regions searching for the North Pole. The story told how, no matter how tired or cold these travelers were, they always stopped to melt the snow and make water or tea of it when they were thirsty. They never ate dry snow.

“I’ve either got to find a spring to get a drink, or melt some of this snow,” said Bert to himself, as he walked on, limping a little, though his leg was feeling better than at first. “But I guess if I did find a spring it would be frozen over. Now how can I melt some snow?”

Bert had been on camping trips with his father, and he had often seen Mr. Bobbsey make use of things he found beside the road or in the woods to help out in a time of some little trouble. With this in mind, the boy began to look around for something that would help him get a drink of water, or to melt some snow into water which he could drink after it had cooled.

But to melt snow needed a fire, he knew, and also something that would hold the snow before and after it was melted.

“I need a pan or a can and a fire,” decided Bert. “I wonder if I have any matches?”

He felt in his pockets and found some, though he did not usually carry them, for they are rather dangerous for children. But Bert felt that he was now getting to be quite a boy.

“Well, here’s a start,” he said to himself as he felt the matches in his pocket. But he did not take them out, for the snow was blowing about, and Bert knew that a wet match was as bad as none at all. He must keep his matches dry as the old settlers were advised to “keep their powder dry.”

“If I could only make a fire,” thought Bert, coming to a stop and looking about him at a spot that looked as if it might once have been a camp. All he could see was a waste of snow and some trees. But wood for fires, he knew, grew on trees, though any wood which could be made to burn must be dry.

“Maybe I could scrape away some snow and make a fire,” thought Bert. “The thing I need most, though, is a tin can to hold snow and water. Ouch! My leg hurts!” he exclaimed.

His leg, just then, seemed to get a “kink” in it, as he said afterward. He kicked out, as football players do sometimes when their legs get twisted.

As it happened, Bert kicked his foot into a little pile of snow, and next he was surprised to find that he had kicked something out. At first it seemed to be a lump of ice, but as it rolled a few feet and the snow fell away, the boy found that he had kicked into view an empty tin tomato can!

“Here’s luck!” cried Bert, as he sprang after the can before it could be covered from sight in the snow again. “This sure is luck! I can melt some snow in this now!”

Taking the can in his hand he knocked it against his shoe, thus getting rid of the snow that filled it. The can was opened half way, and the tin top was bent back, making a sort of handle to it, which Bert was glad to see. It would enable him without burning his fingers to lift the can off the fire he intended to build.

“All I need now is some dry wood, and I can make a fire and melt snow to make water,” he said aloud. “If I had some tea I could make a regular hot drink, like they have up at the North Pole. But I guess water will be all right. Now for some wood!”

He made his way over to a clump of trees and, by kicking away the snow, he managed to find some dead sticks. As the snow was dry they were not very wet, but Bert feared they were not dry enough to kindle quickly. And he had only a few matches.

“I’ve got some paper, though,” he told himself, as lie felt in his pockets. “A little soft, dry wood, and that, will start a fire and the other wood will burn, even if it is a little damp.”

One of the lessons Bert’s father had taught him was to make a campfire, and Bert put some of this instruction to use now. He hunted about until he found a fallen log, and by clearing away the snow at one end he revealed a rotten end. This soft wood made very good tinder, to start a fire.

The outer end of the rotten log was rather damp. But by kicking away this latter, Bert got at some wood that was quite dry—just what he wanted.

He swung his foot that was not lame from side to side, clearing a place on the ground at one side of the log, and there he laid his paper and the wood to start his fire.

You may be sure Bert was very anxious as he struck one of his few matches and held it to the paper. He hardly breathed as he watched the tiny flame. And then, all at once, the blaze flickered out after it had caught one edge of the paper!

“This is bad luck!” murmured Bert. “I’ve got a few more chances, though.”

He crumpled up the paper in a different shape, arranged it carefully under the pile of splinters and rotten wood, and struck another match. This time he made sure to hold in his breath completely, for it was his breath before, he feared, that had blown out the match.

This time the paper caught and blazed up merrily. Bert wanted to shout and cry “hurrah!” but he did not. The fire was not really going yet, and he was getting more and more thirsty all the while. It was all he could do not to scoop up some of the dry snow and cram it into his mouth. But he held back.

“I’ll have some water melted in a little while,” he told himself. “My fire is going now.”

And, indeed, the tiny flame had caught the soft wood and was beginning to ignite the twigs. From them the larger and heavier pieces of wood would catch, and then he could set the can of snow on to melt into water.

Still hardly daring to breathe, Bert fed his fire in the shelter of the half snow-covered log. It was beginning to melt the snow all around it now, but of course this melted snow ran away and was lost. Bert could not drink that.

When the fire was going well, Bert kicked around on the ground under the log until he found some stones. With these he made a little fireplace, enclosing the blaze, and when he had some embers there, with more wood at hand to pile on, he brought the can to the fire and scooped the tin full of snow.

“This is going to be my teakettle,” said Bert, with a little smile. “Mother and Nan would laugh if they could see me now.”

If you have ever melted a pan of snow on even so good a fire as is in your mother’s kitchen range, you know that snow melts very slowly. It was this way with Bert. He thought the snow in the can would never melt down into water, and when it did, and was fairly boiling, he took hold of the top and threw all the water out!

Why did he do that? you ask. Well, because he wanted to be sure the can was clean, and his mother had told him that boiling water would destroy almost any kind of germ. The can might have had germs in it, having lain outdoors a long time.

“But now I guess it’s clean,” Bert said, as he again filled it with snow after he had rinsed it out. Then he waited for the second quantity of snow to melt, and when this had cooled, which did not take very long, Bert took a drink. The snow water did not taste very good—boiled water very seldom does—but it was safer than eating dry snow.

“Well, now I must travel on,” said Bert, as he scattered snow over the fire to put it out. “I’ll carry a little water with me in the can, for I may get thirsty again. It won’t freeze for a while.”

He walked along as fast as he could, with the pain in his leg, but the snow came down harder and faster and the wind blew colder. Bert looked about for some place of shelter and saw where one tree had blown over against another, making a sort of little den, or cave, near the side of a high rock, which was so steep that the snow had not clung to it, leaving the big stone bare.

“I’ll go in there and stay awhile,” thought Bert, as he caught sight of this shelter. “Maybe the storm won’t last long.”

But as he started to enter the place he heard a growl! There was a scurrying in the dried leaves that formed a carpet for the den, and then, in the half-darkness, Bert saw two green eyes staring at him! He smelled a wild odor, too, that told him some beast of the forest dwelt in this den.

“Oh! A wildcat!” cried Bert, as, a moment later, there sprang out at him the same animal, or one very like it, that he had snowballed a little while before. Probably it was another lynx, but Bert did not stop to think of this.

Forgetting his plan of using snowball bullets, Bert dropped his little bundle of lunch, part of which he had eaten, and began to climb the nearest tree.

He learned then, if he did not know it before, that a wildcat, which was the animal he had surprised in its den, is a good tree-climber; as good as your house cat, or even better.

When half way up the tree, Bert looked down and saw the yellow wildcat coming after him. Probably the animal thought that Bert had no right near its den.

“This is bad!” thought Bert, as he climbed higher and higher. Then, as he saw the beast still coming, he realized that he must, somehow, get away. He saw the big rock not far from the tree. The rock had a small flat top, covered with snow, but the sides were smooth and almost straight up and down, and had no snow on them.

“If I could get there the wildcat couldn’t get me,” thought Bert. “And if it tries to jump after me I can snowball it. I’m going to get on the rock!”

It was the best plan he could think of, and a moment later, having got in good position, he gave a jump, left the tree, and landed in the soft snow on top of the big rock.

With a snarl and a growl the wildcat stopped climbing up as it saw what the boy had done. Then it began climbing down the tree while Bert, from his place of safety, watched. He wondered what the bobcat would do.

The animal walked over to where Bert had dropped his package of lunch and began tearing at the paper.

“Maybe if he eats that he won’t want to get me,” thought Bert. “But how long shall I have to stay here?”

The wildcat, having eaten Bert’s lunch, which did not take long, looked up at the boy on the rock. It sniffed at the base of the big stone, and reared up with its forepaws against it.

“You can’t climb here!” called Bert aloud. “If you do I’ll hit you on the nose with snowballs!”

And then, as though to add to the boy’s troubles, it began to snow hard, a wall of white flakes falling around the lone laddie on the big rock.