“I think so,” returned the girl of the Red Mill.

“Then just hunt for the way,” said Belle, firmly.  “If it has stopped snowing I want to go home.”

“Don’t be a baby, Belle,” advised her brother Ralph.  “Nothing is going to hurt us here.”

“Especially as we have plenty of fuel and grub,” added Bobbins, thoughtfully.

But Ruth saw that it would be wiser to try to get through the tunnel to the brookside.  Nobody could dig them out at this end, that was sure.  So she agreed with Tom and Ralph Tingley to try to follow the same passages that Jerry Sheming had taken her through upon the occasion of her first visit.

“How shall we find our way, though, if it’s dark?” questioned Ralph, suddenly. “I can’t see in the dark.”

“Neither can the rest of us, I guess,” said Tom.  “Do you suppose we could find torchwood in that pile yonder?”

“Not much,” Bobbins told them.  “And a torch is a smoky thing, anyway.”

Ruth was hunting the dark corners of the big cavern in which they had camped.  Although Jerry had been at the far end of the tunnel when he was captured by the constable and his helpers—­outside that end of the tunnel, in fact—­she hoped that he had left his lantern at this end.

As it proved, she was not mistaken.  Here it was, all filled and cleaned, hidden on a shelf with a half-gallon can of kerosene.  Jerry had been in the habit of coming to the cave frequently in the old days when his uncle and he lived alone on the island.

So Tom lit the lantern and the trio started.  The opening of the tunnel through the hill could not be missed; but farther along Ruth had a dim recollection of passing cross galleries and passages.  Should she know the direct tunnel then?

She put that anxiety aside for the present.  At first it was all plain traveling, and Tom with the lantern went ahead to illuminate the path.

They came out into one of the narrow open cuts, but there was little snow in it.  However, a flake or two floated down to them, and they knew that the storm still continued to rage.  The moaning of the wind in the tree tops far up on the hill reached their ears.

“Some storm, this,” observed Tom.

“I should say it was!  You don’t suppose the folks will be foolish enough to start out hunting for us till it’s over; do you?” Ralph asked, anxiously.

“They would better not.  We’re safe.  They ought to know that.  Preston will tell them about the caves in this end of the island and they ought to know we’d find one of ’em.”

“It’s a wild spot, just the same,” remarked Ralph.  “And I suppose mother will be worried.”

“Ruth isn’t afraid—­nor Helen—­nor the other girls,” said Tom.  “I think these Briarwood girls are pretty plucky, anyway.  Don’t you get to grouching, Rafe.”

They pursued their way, Tom ahead with the lantern, for some rods further.  Suddenly the leader stopped.