“Why, because all we had to do was to follow our trail back in the snow. That would have led us to the old cabin.”
Tom shook his head.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bert.
“Our footprints are blown or drifted over three minutes after we make them, in this wind and shifting snow,” Tom said. “Look!”
He pointed over the route they had just come. Their earlier footprints were altogether gone. The expanse of snow was white and unbroken.
“Well, we go this way next,” said Jack. “I remember because I saw that broken white birch tree. Head straight for that.”
They did so, but again were doomed to disappointment. That way led to a low, swampy place, though there was no water in it at present, it having been frozen and covered with snow.
“No road here,” Tom said. “Let’s try some other route.”
“Say!” cried Jack. “What’s the sense of all four of us going in the same direction all the while? Why not try four ways at once? The one who finds the road can fire two shots in quick succession. The rest of us will then come to where we hear the shots.”
“A good idea!” commented Tom. “We’ll try it. Scatter now, and don’t go too far. Oh, you’re coming with me, are you, Towser?” for the dog followed him, evidently considering Tom his master.