“Besides,” he said, “if the rope drags on the ice, it is liable to be cut or worn so that it will break when any strain was put on it.”

Now, one would think from all these precautions that we were launched on a perilous expedition.  That was the impression we were trying to make on ourselves, though, as a matter of fact, anyone of us could have climbed the cliff unaided and without any ice implements if he had used ordinary care not to slip on the ice-clad ladder rounds or the snow-covered ledges.

[Illustration:  Fig. 199.  Winter Expedition to the Goblins’ Platform.]

A Poor Shelter.

The climb was without mishap and we reached our tree house, only to find it so badly racked by storm and weather that it was clearly out of the question to attempt to spend the night there.  The wind howled around the house and whistled through dozens of cracks and chinks that had opened in the walls.  All that we could do, therefore, was to turn back to the island and make the best of our straw hut again.  On the way, however, we stopped at Lumberville for some straw to be used for bedding.  The afternoon was spent sailing around on Lake Placid and the large smooth stretch above the island.

A Costly Camp Fire.

[Illustration:  Bill Gets Tangled up with His Skis.]

[Illustration:  Warming the Lunch on a Cold Day.]

After supper Bill and Reddy went into the hut to arrange the straw bedding, while the rest of us gathered wood for a huge bonfire in front of the hut.  The wind was blowing right down the river and we expected it to carry the warmth of the fire into the hut.  The fire was built some distance in front of the doorway, so as to prevent the hut from catching fire.  But we had evidently miscalculated the strength of the wind, for no sooner was the fire fairly started than a shower of flaming brands was blown right into the hut.  In a moment the straw blazed up, cutting off all escape for Bill and Reddy.  Fortunately the framing was not strong and the frost had loosened up the foundations, so that a few frantic kicks opened an exit in the rear of the hut just in time to save our comrades from cremation.  Once it was fairly started we were powerless to put out the blaze until the hut was ruined.  The snow that covered the walls checked the fire somewhat, but the thatching burned from the inside, melting the snow and dropping it suddenly into the flaming straw bedding on the floor.  As we sat in a gloomy ring about the camp fire, watching the tongues of flame play about the charred ribs of our hut, we had reason to be thankful that the wind had played its pranks before we turned in for the night.  What a risk we had run of being all burned to death!  It made me shudder to think of it.  Well, our hut was burned.  What next?  That was the question put before the society.

“Might build a snow hut,” suggested Dutchy.

“Now, be sensible,” answered Reddy.  “We can’t build a snow hut in five minutes.”