Maybe you can find your way to some pleasanter place for the night." "If we could get through the storm," whispered Dick to Dave, "then we might leave him here, and get to help who would come down and grab the scoundrel." "We'd get along all right at the start," muttered Dave, shaking his head.

"But I don't believe, the way the blizzard is coming now, that we'd get more than a mile or so before we'd all lie down in the snow and have to give up the fight.

You've no idea, Dick, what a howler and piler this storm is.

You ought to go out and try it." "If you say it can't be done, Dave, I'll take your word.

You've as much sand and fight as any of us." "Supper!" yelled the intruder lustily.
"It's the cook's night off," jeered young Prescott.
"Oh, it is, hey ?" roared the big fellow.