“It will take us the rest of the day to do that experimenting,” grumbled George.
“Well, suggest a better plan,” spoke Tom, quickly. “We’re lost, and if we don’t find the proper road soon, we’ll be more than all day in this pickle.”
George had no more to say.
The boys were now a little alarmed at their plight, for they were cold and hungry, and that is no condition in which to fight the wintry blast. But there was nothing they could do except keep moving. In a way, that was their only hope, for the exercise kept them warm, though it made them all the more hungry.
“Keep a lookout for game—even small kinds,” advised Tom, as they went on. “A rabbit or a squirrel wouldn’t come amiss now. We could manage to broil it over the coals of a fire, though it probably won’t be very nice looking.”
“Who cares for looks when you’re hungry?” demanded Bert.
But game did not show itself as the boys tramped on through the snow. They went on for some distance in the direction first decided on, but could see no familiar landmarks. Nor did they reach anything that looked like a road.
“Better go back,” Tom decided, and they did manage to find the little clearing again.
“Say!” cried Bert, as they stood irresolute as to which of the three remaining directions to select next, “aren’t we silly, though?”
“Why?” asked Tom.