My Strange Rescue — Lost on Lake St. Louis

*LOST ON LAKE ST.

LOUIS.

* The great river St. Lawrence, as if not content with its ordinary ample breadth, a few miles above the city of Montreal spreads out into a wide sheet of water which is known as Lake St. Louis.

Lake St. Louis is about twelve miles long by eight in width at its widest part, and being famous for its cool breezes, the people from the city go out there in throngs every summer, so that its shores are well populated as long as the thermometer keeps well above the seventy point.

In winter, however, it is very different.

Then Jack Frost has a confirmed habit of sending the mercury away down, down, down, not only below freezing-point, but below zero even; and the blue waters of the lake turn into a floor as hard as steel, over which the snows drift and pile up and scatter again in fantastic windrows, until the warm spring sunshine melts them into soggy slush, and a little later rends the solid floor itself asunder and sends it careering down the current in great jagged ice-floes.

There is nothing undecided about a Canadian winter.

The frost-king means business from the start, and for three long months keeps a tight grip upon the land.

Some winters, of course, he is more tyrannical than others.

The Ross boys, for instance, thought that he had never before in their experience been so unmerciful as during the season that the event happened about which I am now going to tell.

Day after day for weeks at a time the thermometer would not get up to the zero mark at all, while it would at night drop as much as thirty points below it.

"'Pon my word, this sort of weather isn't fair at all," said Bob Ross, in an impatient tone, at the breakfast-table one morning.

"A fellow can hardly stir out of doors without getting his nose or ears nipped.

My nose was frost-bitten for the third time last night, and that's a little too much of a good thing for me."

"Right your are, Bob," chimed in Phil, his elder brother, from across the table.

"My poor ears have been nipped nobody knows how often.

I

expect one of them will drop off some fine day."

"It's a keen winter, boys, no doubt," assented Mr. Ross.

"I don't remember many as sharp.

But the longest winter has an end, and you'll forget all about the cold the first warm day that comes."

"That may be, father," answered Bob, "but I'd like a little mild weather right now if the weather-clerk has no objections.

You know we're going over to the church festival at Beauharnois to-morrow night; and an eight-mile tramp in this cold weather is not just what I'm hankering for--though I mean to go all the same."

"Tut!

my lad, when I was your age I would have thought nothing of double the distance, if only a certain person were at the end of it," replied Mr. Ross, with a meaning smile at his wife as he added, "But perhaps you have no such attraction."

"Not I," laughed Bob.

"I'm going for the sake of the supper; but I won't answer for Phil," looking quizzically at his brother, who blushed violently and made a timely diversion by springing up and saying,-- "Come along, Bob; let us get at our work, cold or no cold."

Whereupon the two lads went off together.

Mr. Eoss owned one of the largest and finest among the many farms that bordered upon Lake St. Louis.

Although he was what might be called a gentleman farmer, he was a thoroughly practical farmer too.

He made his farm pay him handsomely, and thought so well of his occupation that he had brought up his two boys to follow it also.

When they were grown men he would divide the greater part of his property between them, reserving only sufficient to keep himself and his wife in independent comfort during the remainder of their days.

The two sons, Phil and Bob, at the time of my story about sixteen and fourteen years of age respectively, were as satisfactory a pair of boys as parents could wish.

One, the elder, tall and dark, the other short and fair, both were strong, healthy, hearty lads, full of spirit, and fond enough of having their own way, but thoroughly sound at heart and passionately fond of father and mother.

Although trained to all kinds of farm work, their education had not been by any means neglected.

They had had a good share of schooling, and Mr. Ross never went into the city without bringing back a new book or the latest magazine, so that they might keep up with the spirit of the times.

The church festival Bob spoke of was to take place the following evening at Beauharnois, a village that stood straight across the lake "as the crow flies" a distance of about eight miles.

The snow was in capital condition for snow-shoeing, and the two sturdy boys thought nothing of the tramp there and back.

They would start from home at four in the afternoon, make Beauharnois about six, enjoy themselves there to the best of their ability until ten, and then set off for home, where they ought to turn up soon after midnight.

Much to their gratification, the cold next morning showed signs of moderating.

"Looks as if the weather-clerk was interested in the festival," remarked Phil in the course of the morning, his beaming face revealing clearly enough that others than the weather-clerk were interested in the same event.

"I'm glad it isn't quite so keen as yesterday," answered Bob.

"A fellow will enjoy the spread all the better for not going to it with his nose frozen."

"I shouldn't wonder if we had a regular change," said Mr. Ross, casting a searching glance at the sky, which was evidently losing its sharp blue tinge and becoming ashen gray in colour.

"We often do have a soft spell about this time of the year.

There'll most likely be snow soon.

I hope it won't begin before you get home, boys."

"Oh, I think not," replied Phil confidently.

"It can't come much sooner than the morning."

The hours of the day slipped quickly by, and sharp at four o'clock the two boys set forth on their long tramp.

They certainly were a prepossessing pair in their white blanket-coats, that became them so well, tied with broad scarlet sashes, and blue caps with scarlet tassels on their heads.

Bidding good-bye to their parents, who stood at the door watching them with fond pride, Phil and Bob strode swiftly down the slope to the lake, and soon were tramping over its broad bosom, upon which the snow lay deep in undulating waves.

Barring the leaden hue of the sky, the afternoon could hardly have been finer.

The stinging cold was gone, yet the air was keen enough to be bracing.

There was little or no wind.

The snow was well packed; and, full of joyful expectations, the brothers walked on side by side, their broad snow-shoes bearing them easily upon the very surface of the drifts.

Eight miles in two hours was no remarkable performance for two such expert snow-shoers as they, and they accomplished it without difficulty, reaching their destination just as the bell in the tower of the church boomed out six solemn strokes.

Leaving their coats and snow-shoes at a friend's house, they hastened to the place where the festival was in full swing, and entered heartily into the enjoyments, each following his own bent.

The expectations of both were fully satisfied.

The supper presented more dainties on its generous bill of fare than even the capacious appetite of Bob could comfortably sample, and Phil was not disappointed in the light that shone from a certain pair of brown eyes that for some mysterious reason had more attraction for him than anything else the entertainment offered.

Ten o'clock came all too soon for him, especially as the festival was not entirely over, although some of those who lived at a distance had already left; but Bob was rather glad, as the last hour had been somewhat slow, from his point of view.

So siding up to Phil, he whispered discreetly in his ear,-- "Time to go, Phil; it's 'most ten o'clock."

Phil pulled out his watch with an incredulous look; but, alas!

it told the same story as Bob, and dearly as he would have liked to linger, he knew well enough that the sooner they started now the better.

So, with a very regretful adieu to the one whose presence had "made the assembly shine," he joined his brother at the door.

When they got outside, the look of the night and the feel of the air told them that the snow was nearer at hand than they had expected.

In fact, a few soft, sly flakes were already dropping noiselessly.

The friend at whose house they had left their coats and snow-shoes suggested their staying all night; but although Bob was nothing loath, Phil would not be persuaded.

"Father said he'd wait up for us," he objected, "and he'll get anxious if we're not home by twelve o'clock.

--Come along, Bob."

Accordingly, off they went into the darkness of the night.

When they reached the shore of the lake, they could just see the glimmer of the village lights by which they were to be guided--their home lying about half-a-mile to the left.

Although their pace was far from a loitering one, they did not get over the snow by any means so fast as in the afternoon.

Bob was not only tired and sleepy, but provoked with Phil for refusing to stay all night at their friend's house.

Indeed, he hoped his brother would yet repent and return, and so his feet dragged not a little.

Noticing this, Phil said briskly,-- "Step out, Bob; we'll have all we can do to get across before the snow comes."

"All well enough to say 'step out,'" answered Bob gruffly.

"Why couldn't you stay overnight?

I'm too tired to walk fast anyhow, snow or no snow."

"Oh, you're not tired, Bob.

You've eaten a little too much supper, that's all," rejoined Phil pleasantly.

Bob vouchsafed no answer, and for some time the brothers tramped along in silence.

As they neared the centre of the lake, the snow-flakes, which had at first been few and far between, thickened rapidly, and the wind at the same time rose into gusts that blew them sharply into the boys' faces.

A thrill of alarm shot threw Phil, and grasping Bob's arm he called out,-- "It looks nasty, Bob; let's put on a spurt."

At this appeal Bob roused himself; and quickening their pace to a trot, they hastened onward, their snow-shoes rising and falling in steady, unbroken step.

Every minute the snow and wind increased, until at length the storm in full force burst upon the boys and almost blew them off their feet.

All around them the air was filled with flakes of white whirling about in bewildering myriads, splashing like fine spray into their faces and stinging like small shot, for the wind was bitterly cold.

Presently Phil halted, and, peering hard into the blinding storm, cried anxiously,-- "What's become of the lights, Bob?

I can't see them a bit; can you?"

"N-n-no," panted Bob.

"Let's turn back."

[Illustration: "THE FORMS OF THE TWO BOYS WERE EXPOSED TO VIEW."

] "No use in that," replied Phil, turning round.

"I can't see those behind us either.

There's nothing for it but to push ahead."

"O Phil!

are we lost?"

asked Bob, with quivering lips.

Phil was more than half afraid they were; but to reassure Bob he answered cheerfully,-- "It's all right.

I know how to steer.

Come along."

And grasping Bob's hand he started off again.

On and on they plodded through storm and snow, Phil half dragging Bob, who, between fright and real weariness, found difficulty in making progress at all.

For half-an-hour more they struggled thus, until at last Bob dropped his brother's hand and flung himself down in the snow, sobbing out despairingly,-- "It's no use, Phil, I'm dead beat; you'll have to go on without me."

"Nonsense, Bob," said Phil, taking him by the shoulder.

"Jump up and go at it again."

Thus helped to his feet, Bob made another attempt, but had not gone more than a quarter of a mile in a way that was staggering rather than walking before down he slipped again; and this time all that Phil could do failed to rouse him from his stupor.

The cold and exhaustion had completely overcome him.

He had but one thought, and that was--to be allowed to sleep.

Phil fully realized the danger, and, tired as he was himself, put forth every exertion to keep his brother awake.

He even tried to drag him along by his sash in what he thought was the right direction, but of course soon found this impossible.

Desert his brother he would not, though they died together; so, in order to keep himself from falling into the same state, he made a circle around him, walking slowly.

While doing this he encountered a high drift whose lee afforded some shelter from the blast.

An idea flashed into his mind which he instantly proceeded to execute.

Returning to Bob he dragged him with infinite difficulty to this spot.

Then slipping off one of his snow-shoes, he proceeded to cover his body with snow, leaving nothing but his head exposed; the poor boy, now fast asleep, offering no objection to such strange bedclothes.

Then sitting down beside him, with the big drift protecting his back, he let the snow gather over himself, hoping he hardly knew for what, and praying for the Lord who sent the snow-storm to have mercy on them both.

In a vague way--for the stupor was fast creeping upon him too--he wondered if his father had begun to miss them yet, and whether he would come out in search of them.

He even dimly pictured his father sitting in the parlour at home reading his book, and pausing every now and then to listen for his boys' voices.

His mother, he knew, would have gone to bed long ago.

He felt relieved that the snow no longer stung his face, and that the wind had gone down completely, and so his thoughts wandered on until he knew no more.

One hour, two hours passed, and the drifting snow had hidden the forms of the two boys from sight, when a long line of men might have been seen coming from the village and scanning carefully every mound and swell of the snow as they hastened onward.

In advance of the rest strode Mr. Ross, his face full of grave anxiety, his eyes intent upon the white plain before him that seemed to have so little to tell.

Now bounding on ahead and now returning to look up in his face with inquiring eyes was his wise old collie, Oscar, without whom he never went abroad.

"Find them, Oscar, find them, good dog," would Mr. Ross say encouragingly, and the sagacious animal would dart on again.

Presently he stopped beside a drift now grown to huge proportions, sniffed sharply at the snow, and then proceeded to dig into it with eager, vigorous paws.

Observing his action, Mr. Ross uttered a cry of joy and sprang forward to the dog's side.

Going down on his knees he tore at the snow-bank in a frenzy of haste.

In another moment a red tassel appeared, then a blue cap, then a white, still face, and, others coming to his aid, the forms of the two boys were exposed to view, Phil still sitting up with his head bent over his knees, and Bob lying comfortably beside him.

That they were both alive was clear enough, for they were breathing--very faintly, to be sure, but undoubtedly breathing.

Mr. Ross caught up one after another in a passionate embrace.

Then litters were quickly improvised out of blanket-coats stripped from willing backs, and soon the unconscious boys were speeding homeward as fast as stalwart arms could bear them.

The rest of the story is quickly told.

Thanks to the sturdy frames and perfect constitutions, the brothers were only temporarily the worse for their experience.

They both were frost-bitten, of course, Bob's poor nose and Phil's feet coming in for the worst of it; but a few weeks' good nursing cured everything, and no scars remained to remind them, had they ever been likely to forget it, of the night they were lost.