"Fred Hatfield!" gasped the amazed girl. "Is it you? What is the
matter?"

"Take me to that house. I see the light, but I cannot reach it Help
me, for God's sake!" cried the boy.

She could see his white, pinched face as he lay there more than half
buried in the snow. His eyes were feverish and wild and he certainly
did not know Ruth.

"Help me out! help me out!" he continued to beg. "My leg is caught."

But it was more weakness and exhaustion than aught else that held
the boy in the drift, as Ruth very soon found out when she laid hold
of his shoulders and exerted her strength. In a few moments, what
with her pulling and his scrambling, the boy was out of the drift.

He had clung to the rifle--Tom Cameron's weapon, of course--and into
his belt was stuck a knife and a camp hatchet.

"Why, how did you get here in this storm?" demanded Ruth, as he lay
panting at her feet.

"I got lost--from my--my camp," he responded. "I'm frozen! I can't
feel my feet at all--"

"Come across to the fire," urged Ruth. "We girls are lost from Snow
Camp. But we're all right so far. My! how the snow blows."

Facing the storm they could hardly make headway at all. Indeed, the