to the Hall take us with you!" yelled Shadow.

"He won't stop till he's tired out," said Henshaw. "And goodness only
knows where he'll carry Dave."

"Trust Dave to take care of himself," answered the senator's son. "I
never saw him get into a hole but that he managed to get out again."

"I hope the mule doesn't land him in some crack in the ice," said
Messmer.

On and on through the gathering darkness sped the mule, with Dave
clinging to his back with a deathlike grip. The animal was young and
full of go and seemed thoroughly to enjoy the run.

"Talk about mules being slow," panted the boy. "The chap who thinks that
ought to be on this steed. Why, he'd win on a race-track sure!"

A half-mile was quickly covered, and then the mule neared the bank of
the river, where the latter made a long curve. Here there was a
fair-sized creek, and up this the animal dashed, in spite of Dave's
efforts to stop him or get him to keep to the river proper.

"Whoa, you rascal!" sang out the youth for at least the fiftieth time,
and then he caught sight of a white sail just ahead of him. The next
moment the mule bumped into the edge of the sail, shied to one side, and
sent Dave sprawling on the ice. Then the animal steadied himself and
made tracks for the road which led to Mike Marcy's farm. Evidently he
was tired of roaming around and of being ridden, and was now going home.

[Illustration: The mule shied to one side and sent Dave sprawling on the
ice.--_Page 101._]

Somewhat dazed, Dave picked himself up and gazed at the ice-boat. It was
the _Snowbird_, and on it were Nat Poole and Link Merwell.

"Hullo, if it isn't Dave Porter!" muttered Poole, in amazement.

"Where did he get that mule?" questioned Merwell.

"I'm sure I don't know. But this makes a mess of things. I didn't want
that crowd to know we had taken the ice-boat," went on the dudish youth.

Dave picked up the cap which had fallen on the ice and ran up to the
ice-boat. Those on board had run into the creek by mistake and were
trying to turn the _Snowbird_ around.

"What are you doing with that craft?" asked Dave.

"That's our business," retorted Nat Poole.

"I think it is my business. That boat belongs to Messmer and Henshaw."

"We found it, and we are going to have a sail back to Oak Hall," said
Link Merwell.

"I don't think so," answered Dave, decidedly.

"What's that?" cried Merwell, sharply. He was a fellow used to having
his own way.

"I want that bo