"Let us be thankful that it was no worse," answered the doctor's son. "Supposing we had not found this shelter, or supposing that match had gone out, or supposing we hadn't shot the deer—"
"Stop, Shep! I am blue enough already. I'll tell you what it is: By hook or by crook, we must get back to camp before to-night. If we don't the others will be worried to death about us, I am sure."
"That's easy enough to say. But look at the snow."
Whopper looked beyond the shelter. The snow had stopped coming down but it lay to the depth of several inches in some spots and in drifts three and four feet high in others. He gave a sigh.
"Tough traveling and no mistake. Maybe we can't get through at all!"
"I know what I am going to do, first of all," said Shep. "I am going to climb a tree on the top of the cliff and locate myself."
"That's a good idea."
Breakfast over, both boys scrambled up one of the fallen trees to the top of the cliff. Not far away was a tree with low branches and up this went the doctor's son, Whopper boosting him all he could. All the boys could climb well, and soon Shep was far enough up to look around on all sides.
"There is the lake, about three-quarters of a mile off," he said, pointing with his hand. "I can see our camp, too. The smoke is coming up out of the chimney."
"Is it on the other side of the lake?"