CHAPTER XIX
BESIEGED BY THE STORM KING
Tom Cameron and his two friends were so busy setting up a target and throwing iced snowballs at it, that they barely noticed the first big flakes of the storm. But by and by these flakes passed and then a wind of deadly chill swept down upon the camp and with it fine pellets of snow—not larger than pin-points—but which blinded one and hid all objects within ten feet.
"Come on!" roared Bob. "This is no fun. Let's beat it to the house."
"Oh, it can't last long this way," said Isadore Phelps. "My goodness! did you ever see it snow harder in your life?"
"That I never did," admitted Tom. "I wonder if the girls have come back?"
"If they haven't," said Bob, "they'd better wait where they are until this flurry is over."
"I hope they have returned," muttered Tom, as they made their way toward the rear of Snow Camp.
The snow came faster and faster, and thicker
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