For a moment the boys thought of turning back and going into a temporary camp until the storm should subside. But they knew that Fred and Runnell would worry over their non-appearance, and so pushed on in as straight a course as they could lay down.
The farther they got out on the lake the more the snow swirled around them. The snow was now as hard as salt, and beat into their faces and down their necks in spite of all they could do to protect themselves. Thus less than half a mile was covered, when Harry called a halt.
“I—I can’t get my breath,” he gasped. “Joe, this is fearful.”
“I guess it’s something of a blizzard, Harry. Come on, we can’t stay here.”
“Hadn’t we better go back?”
“It’s just as bad to go back as it is to go ahead.”
“I can’t see a dozen yards in any direction.”
“It’s the same with me.”
“Then how do you know that you are going in the right direction?”
“Oh, the island is over there, isn’t it?”