"Don't do it, Ruthie! You'll be lost," cried Helen. "Then whatever
should we do?"

"I won't get lost--not if you girls continue to shout," returned her
chum.

She had buttoned her coat about her and pulled the skating cap she
wore down over her ears, yet not too low to muffle them. Again the
cry came wandering through the storm. Ruth started down the bank of
the gully; the cry came from the other side of the hollow, she was
sure--almost directly opposite the ledge on which they had taken
shelter.

When she plunged off the ledge she at once entered the wall of
driving, smothering snow. It almost took her breath, it was so deep
under her feet and shrouded her about so much like a mantle. Had she
ventured this way when first she and her friends had descended to the
ledge, Ruth must have actually sunk out of sight in the soft drifts.

But the sifting snow had packed harder and harder as the storm
increased. After all, she sank only to her knees and soon found that
she was plunging over rather than through the great drifts that
filled the gully. How broad this gully was--or how deep when the snow
was out of it--she could not imagine. Nor did she give a thought to
these things now.

Again she heard the muffled cry for help; but it sounded louder. She
had made no mistake in the direction she had taken. The person
needing succor was directly in front of the ledge, but could not get