It was great sport, although the quartette from Salsette Academy enjoyed it more than the men did.  It was fun for the boys and work for the men, and the latter would have given it up in despair if the younger diggers had not been so eagerly interested in the task.

They sloped the tunnel so that it was several yards long before it reached the surface.  The snow underneath, they tramped hard; they battered their way through by pressing a good deal of the snow into solid walls on either side.  When the roof at the end finally fell in on them, they found that it was still snowing steadily and the wind was pouring great sheets of it into the cut and heaping it yard upon yard over the roofs of the cars.  They could barely see the top of the smokestack of the pusher a few feet away.

That locomotive had been abandoned by its crew when the train was stalled.  Keeping the boiler of the head engine hot was sufficient to supply the cars with heat and hot water.

“Cricky!” cried Bob.  “We’ve found the way out; but I guess even Uncle Dick wouldn’t care to start out in this storm, snowshoes or not.  Fellows, we’re in a bad fix, just as sure as you live.”

“All right,” said Teddy Tucker.  “Let’s go back and get something to eat before somebody else gets ahead of us.  I suppose those girls have given all the milk to those kids up front, and maybe the ham sandwiches too.”

“Dear me!” sighed Timothy, “it is like being cast away on a desert island.  We are Robinson Crusoes.”

“And haven’t got even a goat!” chuckled Tommy Tucker.

CHAPTER XIII

AN ALARM

Mr. Richard Gordon was not minded to allow the young folks to portion out the little store of food as they pleased.  He and Major Pater, who had now joined the party from Fairfields quite as a matter of course, had considered the use of the supplies to the best advantage.  There was not much else to eat on the train, for even the crew had devoured their lunches, and most trainmen when obliged to carry food at all are supplied with huge tin buckets that hold at least three “square meals.”

“Though why meals should be ‘square’ I can’t for the life of me see,” Betty observed.  “Why not ‘round’ meals?  I am sure we manage to get around them when we eat them.”

“Quite a philosopheress, aren’t you?” joked Bob.

“These rations are not to be considered with philosophy,” complained Bobby.  “They are too frugal.”

In truth, when the bread and meat and crackers and hot drink had been portioned to those needed food most, the amount each received was nothing to gorge upon.

“If it stops snowing—­or as soon as it does,” Bob declared, “we’ve got to get out and make our way back to that station the brakeman says is only three miles away.”

“Uncle Dick won’t let us try it, I am sure,” sighed Betty.  “How could we wade through such deep snow?”