[CHAPTER XXII]
AN ANXIOUS SEARCH
George Abbot had the luck of finding the road for which he and his chums had all vainly sought so long in the storm. It will be remembered that the four boys had started in different directions, corresponding to the different points of the compass, to search for a route, either back to the hut where they had spent the night, or to one of the three camps.
And it was George who found the road.
True he did not know which road it was at the time, but when he had stumbled on through the drifting snow, fighting his way against the storm for some time, he fairly tumbled down a little embankment, rolling over and over.
“Well, what’s this?” George asked himself, rather dazed, as he rose to his feet.
He had his answer in a moment.
“It’s a road—I hope it’s the road,” he went on, as he saw that the little declivity down which he had fallen was where the road had been cut through a hill, leaving a slope on either side of the highway.
“I must signal to the others at once,” George decided. His gun had slipped from his grasp when he fell, but he now picked up the weapon, and fired two shots in quick succession. It was the signal agreed upon.