"We haven't room to expand here," said Bart, after they had skated around on the broad expanse of the river near the town. "Let's go up a mile or two."
His chums agreed, and they were soon racing up the stream toward the "Riffles" a shallower place where, in summer, there was good fishing.
"Let's see who'll be first to the dead pine!" cried Bart, pointing to a lightning-blasted tree on the river's edge about a mile up. All four dashed off at top speed.
There was little difference in the ability of the boys when it came to skating. They were as much at home on the steel runners as they were on the baseball diamond, and were speedy skaters. Forward they went, stooping over to avoid the wind resistance as much as possible, the metal of their skates singing merrily in the crisp winter air.
"Now for the last rush!" cried Bart, as he put on an extra burst of speed. His companions responded to the call, but Bart had a little the best of them, and was first at the goal.
"I'll beat you going back!" cried Ned.
"Let's rest a while," suggested Frank. "What's that?"
The boys turned suddenly at the sound of loud shouting on the road which, at this point, ran close
