"I never heard that we came into the world laughing," said Madge; "so Lluella isn't different from the rest of us on that score."

"But thank goodness we're not all such snivelers," grumbled Heavy.

"Want me to get up? What for?"

But when Madge and Ruth explained what they intended to do, all the girls willingly bestirred themselves and helped in the moving of the fire and the gathering of more fuel.

"Of course we can't expect any help to-night," said Helen. "But I know that they'll start out hunting for us at daybreak, no matter whether it keeps on snowing, or not."

"And a nice time they'll have finding us down in this hole,"

complained Belle Tingley.

"Lucky I fell into this hole, just the same," remarked Heavy. "It just about saved our lives."

"But I guess we would have been a whole lot better off if we hadn't moved from the first big tree Ruth got us to creep under," Helen said, thoughtfully. "We couldn't have been more than two miles from Snow Camp then. _Now_ we don't know where we are."

"Never mind that, Helen," advised Madge. "Help get in the wood. Now, we want a big, rousing fire. We'll just heat that old rock up so that it will stay warm all night. It will be like sleeping as the Russian peasants do--on top of their stoves."

They had piled the brush on the coals, after sc.r.a.ping the coals back upon the ledge, and the firelight was dancing far up the rock, and shining out into the steadily drifting snow, when suddenly Helen seized her chum's hand and cried:

"Listen! what's that?"

The girls grew silent instantly--and showing no little fear. From somewhere out in the storm a cry came to their ears.

"There it is again," gasped Helen. "I heard it twice before."

"I hear it," repeated Madge. "Wait."

Again the distant sound came forlornly to their ears. That time they all distinguished it. And they knew that their first hope was quenched. It was no sound of a rescuing party searching for them in the storm, for the word--repeated several times, and unmistakable-- they all identified.

"_Help!_"

CHAPTER XXIII

A DOUBLE CAPTIVITY

"It's a ghost!" gasped Belle as the voice out of the storm died away down the wind.

"So are you!" snapped Madge. "What would a ghost want any help for?

Ridiculous!"

"Goodness me!" drawled Heavy. "Seems to me even a disembodied spirit might feel the need of help if it was out in such a gale as this."

"I mean that we only thought we heard the voice," chattered Belle.

"Funny we should all think with such unanimity," scoffed Ruth. "That was certainly a very able-bodied spirit--There!"

Again the cry came brokenly through the storm.

"Somebody lost like ourselves," said Lluella, with a shiver.

"And he sees the light of our fire," Jennie Stone urged.

"We must help, whoever it is," Ruth cried. "Shout, girls! Maybe he wants to know the way--"

"The fire will show him," said Madge, quickly.

"Perhaps he is hurt!" said Helen.

"Shout!" commanded Ruth.

They raised their voices in a ragged chorus of cries. "Again!" cried Ruth, and that time they sent their halloo out into the storm with more vigor and unanimity. Once more, after they had waited a full minute, they could plainly distinguish the word "Help!"

"This won't do," said Ruth, briskly. "Whoever it is cannot get to us."

"And we can't get to him!" cried Lluella.

"I am going to try. I'll go alone. You girls keep hollering. I won't go out of earshot," promised Ruth.

"Don't do it, Ruthie! You'll be lost," cried Helen. "Then whatever should we do?"

"I won't get lost--not if you girls continue to shout," returned her chum.

She had b.u.t.toned her coat about her and pulled the skating cap she wore down over her ears, yet not too low to m.u.f.fle them. Again the cry came wandering through the storm. Ruth started down the bank of the gully; the cry came from the other side of the hollow, she was sure--almost directly opposite the ledge on which they had taken shelter.

When she plunged off the ledge she at once entered the wall of driving, smothering snow. It almost took her breath, it was so deep under her feet and shrouded her about so much like a mantle. Had she ventured this way when first she and her friends had descended to the ledge, Ruth must have actually sunk out of sight in the soft drifts.

But the sifting snow had packed harder and harder as the storm increased. After all, she sank only to her knees and soon found that she was plunging over rather than through the great drifts that filled the gully. How broad this gully was--or how deep when the snow was out of it--she could not imagine. Nor did she give a thought to these things now.

Again she heard the m.u.f.fled cry for help; but it sounded louder. She had made no mistake in the direction she had taken. The person needing succor was directly in front of the ledge, but could not get over to the fire.

She glanced back over her shoulder. The leaping flames she could not see; but their glow made a round spot of rosy light against the screen of the falling snow. The mystery of the sight terrified her for a moment. Would she ever be able to fight her way back to that ledge?

"Our Father, help me!" was her unspoken prayer, and then she plunged on.

She heard the shrill cries of her friends behind; ahead the lost one shouted out once more.

"Here! here! This way! Help!"

"I'm coming!" responded Ruth Fielding and, beaten as she was by the gale behind, kept steadily on.

The way began to rise before her. She was ascending the other bank of the gully. Suddenly through the snow-wreath that surrounded her she saw something waving. She sprang forward with renewed courage, crying again:

"I'm coming!"