The rays of the acetylene lamp lit up the way fairly well, and here and there they could see their former trail, although it was growing more indistinct every moment. The wind now whistled through the pines and spruces,—a sound as dismaying as it was lonely.
“Might have brought down some game, with the aid of this lamp,” said Chet, as they trudged forward on their snowshoes.
“I’m not looking for game just now.”
At last they reached what they thought was the spot where Andy had had the fall. So far they had seen no trace of the missing documents. Now they gazed around, much crestfallen. The hollow was completely filled with the drifting snow, and a ridge had formed, wiping out the trail utterly.
“I am going to try digging,” said Andy. “Wish I had brought a shovel along.”
The lamp was hung on the branch of a tree near by, and both youths set to work, shoving and kicking the snow to one side or another. Thus they worked, in something of a circle, for the best part of an hour. Not a trace of the papers could be seen anywhere.
“Maybe I lost them further back—where we found the moose,” said Andy. “I’m going to look. But you needn’t go with me if you don’t care to, Chet.”
“I’ll go where you go, Andy. I want to see you get those papers back.”
Again they moved forward, the wind and snow cutting each in the face, and sometimes almost blinding them. They had to rest twice before they reached the spot of Chet’s thrilling adventure.
Again the search began, and it was kept up until both lads were wellnigh exhausted from stooping over and “sifting” the snow. Andy straightened his back and gave a sigh.