“It’s a hold-up,” Bob thought, as he nudged Jack, and at the same time placed his hand over the boy’s mouth.

“What’s the matter?” Jack whispered, in a low tone.

“Looks as though we’d been held up,” Bob replied.

But just then he heard words which reassured him:

“We’ve had our eyes on you for some time, Sandy, and you might as well come clean. It’ll be the best for you in the end.”

“But I’m a tellin’ yer, Jake, thot I hain’t got a mite o’ liquor on board,” they heard the Irishman protest.

“Mebby not just now,” came the reply. “But I knew well enough that you had some on the down trip.”

“So help me——” Sandy began, but the officer cut him short.

“No use in denying it, man. I wouldn’t believe you on a stack of Bibles. A man that’ll run whiskey’ll lie about it till he’s black in the face. Anyhow, we’re going to have a look at what you got, and, mind you, no funny business.”

Bob now thought it was time that they were showing themselves; so, with a low whisper to Jack, he threw off his blanket and got up on the seat, and Jack followed him almost as quickly.

It was very dark and at first they were unable to locate the men they had heard talking. But soon their eyes became accustomed to the darkness and they made out the forms of three men standing near the horse’s heads. At the same time a ray of light from an electric torch struck Bob full in the face.

“Hello, who’s this?” the man who held the light asked, turning to the driver.

“Jest a couple o’ kids ridin’ up ter Jackman,” Sandy replied.

“Hum, well we won’t take any chances just the same,” the officer declared. Then, coming close to the side of the sled, he ordered:

“You boys jump out lively now, and I guess you’d better keep your hands up too till we give you the once over. What’s your names?”

Bob told him, and instantly the man’s attitude changed.

“Bob and Jack Golden, eh,” he repeated, as he flashed his light full upon them again, “Well, well, so it is. I’ve seen you boys in Skowhegan often enough to know you. You can put your hands down. I know you’re all right, but I didn’t expect to see you way off up here and at this time of night.”

The boys thanked the officer and climbed out of the pung.

“Somebody’s been toting a powerful lot of whiskey from Jackman down to Skowhegan,” the officer whispered to Bob, “and we’re pretty sure that Sandy has had a big hand in it. It’s stuff that’s brought across the border and, of course, there’s a tremendous profit in it. I don’t suppose that he’s got any on board now, as he’s going the wrong way; and I told Jim, back there, that it was foolish to stop him coming this way, but the poor boob couldn’t see it and insisted on doing it, so we might as well have a look.”

The look was very thorough but, as the officer expected, nothing of a contraband nature was found.

“Sure an’ it’s meself as told yer that I didn’t have nothin’,” Sandy declared, as soon as the search was finished.

“I know you did, Sandy,” the officer said, “but we have almost certain knowledge that you’ve been running whiskey and I want to tell you now that if you keep it up we’ll get you and it’ll be the jug for yours. Better cut it out.”

Sandy made no reply and the officers drove off in their light cutter and the boys took their places once more in the pung.

“How far are we from Jackman?” Bob asked, as he glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock.

“Only ’bout four miles,” the driver replied, as he cracked his long lash over the heads of the horses.

It was evident from his tone that the man was mad and they asked no more questions and Sandy did not speak again except to shout to the horses. A little less than an hour later they drew up in front of the hotel where they were to spend the night.

The boys paid Sandy for the trip, and, in less than a half hour, were sound asleep.

They were up before daylight, and having arranged the night before for an early breakfast, they were ready to start on their long and uncertain tramp just as the sun was showing in the east.

It was a beautiful morning; such, as Jack declared, is made only in northern Maine. The thermometer on the porch showed an even zero and the air was still and clear.

“It doesn’t seem possible that we’ll be sweating before noon,” Jack declared, as he drank in huge gulps of the stinging air. “Are you sure you can find the way?” he asked, as they strapped their packs on their backs.

“Well, we want to hit North West Carry first, and I know the way that far anyhow, as I went over the trail from here once with father. It was that winter you had pneumonia,” Bob replied, as he started off at a rapid walk.

They had no need for snow-shoes now, as the crust was hard enough to hold a horse, so they carried them strapped on top of the packs.

“We ought to make the Carry by noon easy,” he declared, as he swung along. “It’s not more than fifteen miles from here. We’ll get dinner there and then we won’t have to start on our supply till night.”

As the sun rose higher and higher, the temperature seemed to more than keep pace with it, and by nine o’clock they were glad to stop and take off their heavy mackinaws, which they added to their packs. The sun was now getting in his work on the snow, and soon they were obliged to don their snow-shoes. And now their progress became much slower as the melting snow showed a decided tendency to cling to the shoes until they became so heavy that they seemed like lead.

“Gee whiz, but this bears a great resemblance to work,” Jack panted, as he stopped and leaned against a big spruce. “How far do you think we are from the Carry?” he asked.

“Not more than a mile or two,” Bob replied cheerfully. “Getting tired?”

“Well, I don’t know as you’d call it tired,” Jack laughed. “But I never knew snow could get so sticky.”

“It sure is kinder heavy,” Bob smiled. “But you see we’ve been in the open most of the time where the sun gets a good whack at it. After we leave the Carry it’ll be most all woods and I hardly think the snow’ll be so wet. Let’s hope not anyway.”

It was only a little past ten o’clock when they reached the North West Carry, a small settlement consisting of a few log cabins and a general store, at the extreme northwestern point of Moosehead Lake.

During the summer and fall it is a busy place thronged with summer visitors and hunters, but now it was all but deserted. The boys knew no one there as they had spent the most of their time, when at the lake, on the other shore.

There was no one in the store as they entered except the man who ran it, but he greeted them as though they were the first outsiders he had seen for a long time.

“You look as if you’d found some prutty hard tramping,” he said after he had shaken them both by the hand.

“Sure is pretty hard going after the snow gets soft,” Bob smiled. “I wonder if we can get dinner anywhere here?” he asked.

“You wait a minute and I’ll see if the wife can fix you up,” the storekeeper replied as he left the store by a back door.

He was back again almost immediately with the welcome news that if they could wait a half hour dinner would be ready for them.

“Where you boys goin’?” he asked as he motioned to them to sit down. “That is,” he added, “if I hain’t stickin’ my nose inter what’s none of my business.”

For a second Bob hesitated, then thinking that it could do no possible harm to tell him, he explained their mission.

The storekeeper, a man about sixty years old, listened intently until he had finished.

“So you are goin’ ter hike it up ter Musquacook, eh,” he said slowly.

“Yes. Do you know how far it is from here?” Bob asked.

“Wall, it about sixty-five miles as the crow flies but ye’ll have ter go ’bout five miles outter yer way ter git round Churchill Lake,” the man replied. Then, as if a sudden thought struck him, he asked, “Ye don’t happen ter know what that guide’s name was, do ye?”

“No.” Bob replied. “You see, they went in from Presque Isle.”

“I see,” the man said soberly. “Course I hope yer friend’s all right but I do know that there’s some mighty onery guys what call themselves guides over that way.”

Just then a woman stuck her head in at the door and said that dinner was ready. The boys followed their host into what was evidently the combined sitting-room and dinning-room back of the store.

“We don’t put on much style here but you’re welcome to what we got,” he said as he motioned to them to sit up at the table.

In another moment the storekeeper’s wife, a motherly woman of about his age, brought in a steak which fairly made the boys gasp. She sat it on the table in front of them with a word of apology.

“If I had known that you were coming I’d have had something fit for you to eat.”

“My goodness, if that steak isn’t fit to eat I hope I never see one that is,” Jack gasped as he watched the rich juice oozing out.

The woman flushed with pleasure at the praise and, a moment later, brought in a large dish of potatoes fried a rich brown, and a plate of fresh biscuits.

“There, I hope you’ll be able to make out,” she said as she sat the last dish down.

“If we can’t we ought to starve,” Bob declared as he helped himself to a piece of the steak which was all of three inches thick.

And as he told Jack afterward, it was just as good as it looked. So tender that they could almost cut it with a fork, they both declared that it was the best steak they had ever eaten. For dessert they had a huge piece of apple pie covered with rich yellow cream.

“I never ate a better dinner in my life,” Bob declared as he pushed back his chair. And Jack heartily seconded the statement.

Both the man and his wife seemed much pleased at their praise.

“And now how much do I owe you?” Bob asked as he pulled out his pocketbook.

“Not a cent,” the man shook his head. “You are welcome to what ye had.”

Bob started to insist but the man refused to listen and, seeing that he would be offended if he pushed the matter further, he gave up the argument and both boys thanked the man and his wife for their kindness.

“I only hope that we may be able to do as much for you sometime,” Bob declared.

“Talk about being goodhearted,” Jack said a little later, when they were again on their way. “That man’s a king and his wife’s a queen, and I can lick the fellow who disputes it.”

“Well, you won’t have to lick me on that score,” Bob laughed. “I most heartily indorse your sentiments.”

Almost as soon as they left the Carry they plunged into thick woods. Here the snow was much deeper than out in the open but, as Bob hoped, it was not so wet and the traveling was easier, although it was by no means good.

They had gone but a short distance when Bob stopped and pulled a map out of his pocket.

“Now here’s a map of this part of the state,” he explained. “Here’s where we are now and there’s where we want to go. I’ve got my compass with me and I’m going to lay a course and keep by it as closely as I can. As near as I can figure it out,” he said a moment later, after carefully studying the map, “Musquacook Lake is about twenty points east of north, and that’s just about that way,” and he pointed with his finger. “We must do our best to keep it straight as we don’t want to lose any more time than we can help.”

It was impossible to make anything like fast time and the boys were too wise to tire themselves out by trying to hurry. A steady easy pace they knew would result in the most speed in the end. So they ploughed steadily forward only stopping now and then to consult the compass.

“My, but this is great timber up here,” Bob declared after they had covered some miles. He stopped as he spoke and looked about him at the mighty spruce trees which lifted their lofty heads high up into the air. “I’ll bet it would cut close on to 15,000 feet to the acre right here.”

“Wouldn’t wonder,” Jack replied. “I wonder who owns it.”

“Don’t know, but whoever does has got one pretty bit of timber,” Bob replied.

They started on again, but had gone a short distance when Jack, who was leading, stopped suddenly and, pointing ahead, said,

“I say, Bob, look at that spruce will you.”

Bob looked and saw, a few feet ahead of them, a queer looking spruce. It stood in the center of a small clearing, perhaps twenty feet across. The middle branches had been trimmed away in a broad ring, leaving the tufted top and the bushy bottom, with only the bare trunk in between.

“What, in the world, do you make of that?” Jack asked.

For a moment Bob did not reply. He was deep in thought. Then, as Jack was about to ask him again, he said:

“Unless I’m very much mistaken that’s a lop stick.”

“Come again, please,” Jack laughed.

“I said it is a lop stick.”

“Well, it’s lopped all right, all right,” Jack declared. “But how did it get that way?”

“Some Indian trimmed it that way,” Bob explained. “You see,” he went on, “it’s a kind of a talisman or mascot. I remember reading, not long ago, that a certain tribe of Indians do that to trees. You see an Indian trims a certain tree that way and then he believes that, in some way, his fate is linked with it. That’s about all I know about it.”

“Well, they can’t be very abundant around here,” Jack said as they started off again.

About four o’clock it began to grow colder and as the sun sank lower in the west, the snow began to stiffen, and they were able to make better time. Rapidly the temperature fell with the sun and soon they stopped and put on their mackinaws.

“I believe the crust will hold in another half hour,” Jack declared. “But I’m ready to call it a day. How about you?”

“I’m pretty tired myself and as soon as we find a good place to camp, I move that we do it. We must have made pretty near twenty miles from the Carry.”

It was after five o’clock and it had been a hard day.

“How about that for a place?” Jack asked a few minutes later as they came to a small clear place. “We can dig away the snow at the foot of that big pine and there’s lots of water in that little brook.”

“I guess it’ll do as well as any other,” Bob decided after a hasty glance around.

They quickly threw off their packs and, breaking through the light crust, they soon had a hole about six feet long by four wide, down to the bare ground, using the snow-shoes as shovels.

“I’ll make the beds if you’ll get the fire going,” Bob said and to this Jack readily agreed.

He had no trouble in finding plenty of dead branches and in a short time a brisk fire was burning near the “bedroom.” In the meantime Bob had been cutting spruce boughs with a small hatchet which Sim had loaned them. These he spread on the ground in the hole which they had dug, until he had a bed nearly a foot thick. Over them he spread a thick blanket and the bed was ready.

“Gee, but I’d like another whack at that steak,” Jack said a little later as they sat by the fire eating their supper of sandwiches washed down with huge mouthsful of hot coffee. “These sandwiches are all right, but oh you beefsteak.”

“You said a mouthful then,” Bob laughed as he drained the coffee pot into his tin dipper.

Darkness was silently stealing through the vast forest as they finished the simple meal and by the time they had washed their plates and cups in the brook, it was almost dark.

“We want to be off as soon as it is light in the morning,” Bob said as he threw a couple of big logs, which he had found near the camp, on to the fire.

“If we get started early enough we ought to make twenty miles or more before the snow gets soft, so I move that we hit the hay right off.”

“I guess you mean hit the boughs,” Jack laughed. “But anyhow if you have the idea of going to bed in your mind I’m with you. I’m tired enough to go to sleep standing up.”

So they lost no time in crawling into the sleeping bags, which lined with sheep’s wool, were very warm, and pulling over themselves another blanket, they were soon lost to the world.

The next day was Sunday and they never did any traveling on that day if it could be avoided. But, in the present case, they both felt that it was perfectly justifiable.

Long ago Bob had acquired the ability to wake at any time he desired and, before going to sleep, he had set his mental alarm clock, as he called it, for four o’clock, and almost to the minute he opened his eyes. It was still dark and for an instant he wondered where he was. Then memory, aided by the heavy scent of the spruce boughs, returned and moving quietly, so as not to disturb his brother, he crawled out of his bag.

A few live embers still smouldered among the ashes of last night’s fire and, with the aid of a few bits of birch bark, he soon had the blaze leaping toward the sky.

Jack was a much sounder sleeper than his brother and, knowing that the boy would need all his strength for the strenuous day ahead, he let him sleep until breakfast was ready.

“Why didn’t you let me sleep all day and be done with it,” Jack growled when Bob finally woke him.

“It’s all right, dear boy,” Bob smiled. “There was no need of both of us getting up so early and I was awake and so I got up.”

“Of course you didn’t have it planned or anything like that. Oh no, of course not. You always want to do all of your own work and a good part of mine too.”

Bob laughed.

“Never mind the bouquets,” he said. “Come and get some of these flapjacks under your belt and we’ll be hitting the long trail.”

Dawn was just breaking when they started. It was cold and not a sound, save the soft creak of the frozen snow beneath their moccasins, broke the silence. One by one, as it seemed, the stars faded from out the cloudless sky as the darkness gave way to light. The sharp air, heavily laden with the odor of spruce and of balsam, made their lungs tingle with life as they drew in great gulps.

“My, but it’s great just to be alive a morning like this,” Bob declared.

“And especially up here in the Maine woods,” Jack added.

“You said it,” Bob smiled. “It beats me how a man can be content to spend his life in a city and never know what the great out of doors is like.”

Their way led through dense woods nearly all the time, and thanks to the heavy shade, the snow did not begin to soften until nearly eleven o’clock. By that time Bob estimated that they had made all of twenty miles and perhaps a little more.

“Guess this is a good place for dinner,” he said as they came to a tiny stream about a foot wide. The land here was evidently rocky as the water was running with great swiftness. “I’ll bet this stream will be a rod wide in a few days, when the snow begins to go in good earnest,” he said as he threw off his pack.

“We better rest for an hour,” Bob suggested after they had eaten their simple lunch. “We’ll more than make up for it. No use in wearing ourselves out and the going from now till night is going to be pretty heavy, let me tell you.”

They had been sitting on an old log for several minutes when, suddenly, a short distance away to their right, came a sound which made Bob jump to his feet. It sounded like the noise which a small boy makes when he blows on a horn made from a pumpkin vine.

“That’s a bull moose,” Bob said in a low tone, “and I’m afraid he’s coming this way.”

The boys had seen a number of deer since leaving the Carry the previous day, but although they had crossed a number of tracks, they had sighted no moose. Usually unless wounded a moose will run from man, but if hurt they will not hesitate to attack, striking with their fore feet and horns. A single blow from one of the sharp hoofs is almost always fatal.

“What of it?” Jack asked as he too got to his feet. “This isn’t the mating season and he’ll run as soon as he sees us.”

“He will unless he happens to be hurt,” Bob agreed as he peered through the thick trees.

Just then the call sounded and this time it was much nearer.

“He’s coming all right and it sounds to me as though he was mad about something. There he comes, see,” and Bob pointed with his hand.

The moose, a magnificent specimen, as large as a large horse, was slowly making his way toward them, sinking nearly to his belly in the deep snow. A moose’s sense of smell is very keenly developed but a fairly strong wind was blowing toward the boys and, as they kept very quiet, he was unaware of their presence until he was less than thirty feet from them.

“If he charges jump for that tree,” Bob whispered.

As soon as the moose saw the two boys he stopped and for a moment stood gazing at them as though undecided what to do about it.

“Look, Bob,” Jack whispered, “No wonder he’s mad. Look at that right shoulder.”

Bob looked and saw that the shoulder was badly torn and was bleeding freely.

Bob did not have time to speak for, at that moment the moose, evidently deciding that, in some way, the two boys were responsible for his injury, lowered his head and with an angry snort plunged forward.

“Quick old man. He’s coming. Grab your snow-shoes,” he shouted as he made for a big spruce with low branches.

Fortunately their packs were at the foot of this tree and as Bob leaped for the lowest bough and swung himself up Jack quickly handed them to him. Although the snow was deep and the moose was unable to make fast time, there was no time to lose and Jack barely escaped the horns as he swung himself up beside Bob.

“I thought you’d never get those bags up,” Bob said with a sigh of relief.

The moose stood at the foot of the tree angrily pawing the snow and sending call after call through the forest.

“Sorry we can’t accept your kind invitation and come down,” Jack chuckled from his perch some ten feet above the moose’s head. “But really I don’t like the looks of those horns. I say, Bob, how long do you think our friend will favor us with his company?”

“That’s hard to say,” Bob replied shaking his head. “But they’re mighty persistent critters once they get their mind fixed on an idea, and this boy seems to have his fixed pretty firmly on us just at present.”

“Well, I hope he gets another idea pretty soon so we can be on our way,” Jack said as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

“Great Scott, Jack, I forgot all about Rex for the minute,” Bob cried in alarm. “We can’t stay here. Think what it may mean to Rex. An hour sooner or later may make all the difference.”

“Spoken like a general,” Jack declared. “But our friend below seems to be master of ceremonies just now.”

“Don’t you think we’d be justified in shooting him?” Bob asked.

“Have you got the Winchester?”

“Sure. It was tied to my pack.”

“Then I believe I’d do it. It looks to me as though he’d bleed to death in time anyhow, and we certainly ought to be on our way as you said.”

“I hate to do it, but I honestly think it’s the only way out,” Bob said slowly as he reached for the rifle. “He’s apt to keep us here for hours.”

As he cocked the rifle the moose turned slightly and exposed his left side. Bob took careful aim at a spot just back of the fore leg and pulled the trigger. For a second the moose stood as if surprised, then slowly he began to totter and, with a low moan, sank to the ground.

“Right through the heart,” Jack cried. “He never knew what hit him.”

“I feel almost like a murderer,” Bob declared as he lowered himself to the snow. “I certainly do hate to shoot anything.”

“Well, I do too for that matter, but it couldn’t be helped. In this case there’s no good in feeling bad about it,” Jack assured him as he began to fasten on his snow-shoes.

Again the going was heavy and their progress slow. Still they expected it and so took it philosophically. After they had been trudging about an hour they suddenly came to a large lake.

“This must be Churchill Lake,” Bob declared as he stopped and took out his map. “See. We must be right here and if so then we’ve kept a mighty straight course.”

“Funny the ice hasn’t gone yet,” Jack said as he looked out over the frozen surface.

“Not so strange,” Bob assured him. “The ice goes out of some of these lakes much earlier than others, and I guess this must be one of the late ones.”

“Think it’ll be safe to cross it?” Jack asked.

“Not on your life,” Bob answered quickly. “That ice must be pretty rotten by now and, anyhow, we wouldn’t gain much as our way is nearly straight up past it.”

“About how long is it?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “But from the map I should say that it was ten or fifteen miles. These maps are not much good when it comes to estimating distance.”

“Well, I guess we go up the left side don’t we?” Jack asked.

“I should say so,” Bob replied studying the map. “If this map gives the right shape of the lake it would be quite a lot out of our way to go around that point on the right side.”

They had made seven or eight miles more, keeping the lake in sight the most of the time when, suddenly, they came to a large stream, still covered with ice. As is apt to be the case there was but little snow over the ice.

“Suppose that ice’ll hold?” Jack asked as he stopped on the bank.

“Looks pretty good, but you never can tell this time of year. Let me try it first,” Bob said as he started to take off his snow-shoes.

“Not much, you won’t,” Jack replied as he hastily kicked off his shoes and started across the ice heedless of Bob’s orders to wait.

Jack had reached the other bank in safety when he heard a loud crash and a frightened cry. He turned and, for an instant, his heart stopped beating. Bob was nowhere in sight, but a large hole in the ice near the middle of the stream, told only too plainly what had become of him.