“It’s a young blizzard,” affirmed Jack.
“Well, if it does this in its youthful days, what will happen when it grows up?” Bert wanted to know, as he paused and turned around to get the wind out of his face while he caught his breath. No one took the trouble to answer him.
The dog seemed impatient at the slow progress of the lads, for he was now well ahead of them. They could only tell where he was by his barks, and by an occasional flurry of snow as he burrowed in some drift and then scrambled out again.
“Better call him back again, Tom,” suggested George. “He’ll get away beyond us, and soon it will be so dark we can’t see our hands before our faces.”
“Yes, I guess I will,” Tom assented. “I’d put a leash on him if I had a bit of cord, and hold him back.”
“Here’s some,” Jack said, offering a piece. “I had it tied around the package of sandwiches.”
“By the way—any of those same sandwiches left?” asked Tom.
“A few—why?”
“Because that may be all we’ll get to eat to-night.”