A few days after the victorious soccer game with Berkley the high school closed for the Christmas vacation. With whoops of joy the boys and girls poured out of the institution of learning and started home, eager for the holiday and all the good things connected with it. A light snow had fallen the night before, and the country was clothed with a blanket of white.

“Tomorrow night Tim will sit up and try to see what Santa Claus looks like,” Mac grinned, as the four boys walked down the main street. “He always does, until Pa chases him to bed. He——”

Tim cut his speech short by neatly planting a hastily packed snowball back of Mac’s ear. His brother returned the fire, and finally Kent and Barry joined in, the fun becoming fast and furious. A group across the street began to bombard them, and then the four chums turned on the common enemy. In this manner, enjoying the sharp air and the good-natured fun, the boys came to Barry’s door and stopped for a final word.

“When shall we get started?” Tim asked.

“I think we ought to light out on the morning after Christmas,” Barry said.

“I don’t know about that,” Kent objected. “We have to buy some provisions and pack our sled, and we won’t want to do that on Christmas. Let’s make it two days after the great holiday.”

The others agreed to this. “As far as I can see, nobody knows why we are going,” Mac said.

“No, I think everyone believes that we are just going off on a camping trip,” said Barry. “That is what we want them to think. After all, we may not learn a thing about the mystery, and in that case our trip will be just a winter camp.”

“But we’ll work like the dickens to get a line on the spook,” promised Kent, as they parted.

Christmas Day was cold and gray, and late in the afternoon it began to snow. For several hours the light flakes fell, and the boys were beginning to worry. If the snow became too deep, their trip would have to be put off, and it looked very much as though the ice on the river would be covered in such a way that skating would be impossible. But the day following the holiday a wind blew the snow into drifts and banks and Kent reported that the river was clear enough to skate on.

Christmas Day passed off quietly, and the boys enjoyed it. There were gifts and family gatherings and a cheery air in general. The next day they busied themselves, preparing to go on their trip. In Kent’s barn there was a wide, low sled, and they began to pack it with supplies and food. Late in the afternoon they stood in a group and surveyed it.

“Guess everything is on there,” Barry said thoughtfully.

“I can’t think of anything else,” Kent admitted.

“Who is going to pull the sled at the start?” Tim asked, roping an ax down firmly.

Kent winked at Barry. “Seems like you twins ought to pull it all the way,” he said. “You are both the same size and would show up well in harness!”

“We wouldn’t look any better than you would,” Mac retorted. “Let’s flip a coin to see who pulls first.”

Several tosses of the coin indicated that Kent was to pull the sled first, and the twins pounded him on the back in derision. Darkness was now falling fast, and they separated for the night.

“What time are we starting?” Tim asked.

“We’ll get going at eight o’clock,” Barry decided. “There isn’t any great hurry. We’ll hunt a little on the way up there and can camp out tomorrow night.”

To the four boys, impatient to be on their way, the night seemed a long one, but the day of the start finally came and they were ready to go. Mr. Garrison had a final word with Barry.

“Here are the keys to the Bronson cabin, and this one is for the lodge,” he told his son, as the latter laced up his high-top lumberman shoes. “You can look around all you want to, but keep out of trouble. I’d rather that you would not camp in the lodge unless there seems to be some good reason for doing so.”

“All right,” Barry agreed. “But it will be permissible to look through the place, won’t it, Dad?”

“Oh, surely. I want you to go through the lodge, but I think you’ll be more comfortable in Bronson’s cabin. The lodge is a big, rambling place and not easy to heat. Have a good time, and start back in time for school again.”

Barry promised, and after bidding his family good-bye he was off on a trot across the intervening yards to Kent’s barn. He found his companions there, tying a few last minute articles fast. They greeted him joyously.

“We were just going over to ask your mother if you were up yet!” Mac hailed.

“She would have told you that I’ve been up a long time,” Barry smiled.

Kent slung his skates over his shoulder. “I guess we’re ready to go,” he said. “Who’d we decide had to pull the sled?”

“You know who,” Tim answered. “It won’t be any weight to pull when it gets on the ice.”

The mystery hunters set off for the Buffalo River, which flowed close to the residential section of Cloverfield. It was a clear, cold day, and their spirits rose with each step forward. The sun sparkled on the snowbanks and the icicles, until all the landscape flashed with beauty. All four of them rejoiced to be alive and able to go.

“I just feel like I could strike out and skate for hours,” Mac said.

“It’s a dandy day for a snow fight like we had at the high school last year,” Kent observed. “In fact, a fellow would feel like doing about anything on a day like this.”

“Except being at home with the mumps or something,” Tim chuckled.

“There is the old river,” Barry said, as they came in sight of the Buffalo. “Now we can get into real action.”

They sat on a rotted log beside the river and put on their skates. It was a cold job, and more than once they paused to blow on chilled fingers. But at last the skates were adjusted and the campers were ready to swing up the river toward Lake Arrowtip. They clumped down the side of the bank and slid out on the ice, cutting a few circles by way of warming up. Kent hooked the rope of the sled to the belt of his Mackinaw.

“I guess we’re about ready,” he nodded, and with a ringing sound the runners of the skates slid forward and they were away on their journey upriver.

For over a mile they kept up a fast pace and then moderated it somewhat, settling down to an even gait that would take them a long way from home if maintained for any length of time. They passed a few skaters and one group of high school boys in particular, with whom they paused to chat. From them they gleaned the information that Carter Wolf and some of his friends had started on their trip, going in a roundabout way by motor truck.

“They’ll find it a rough journey over any of these roads to Lake Arrowtip,” Barry commented, as they resumed their skating.

“I’d rather go this way or even to hike it,” Kent nodded.

“I guess Wolf would rather go the most comfortable way,” Mac observed. “I’ll bet the truck was heated in some way. I’m even surprised that Wolf will go camping in the winter time.”

Leaving Cloverfield far behind them, the boys followed the little river into the deep woods. In the forest the stream became narrower, but there was room for all of them, and they had gone seven miles before it became necessary to leave the ice sheet and take to the shore. They came at last to a place where a log was frozen broadside into the ice and a mass of refuse spoiled the smooth, glassy surface.