It was still bitter cold and many times on the way those hauling the drag stopped, to make sure that Tom was comfortable and in no danger of getting his nose or his ears frostbitten. Fortunately the route was largely down hill, so pulling the long drag was not such a hardship as it otherwise might have been.
At noon they stopped in a small hollow, sheltered from the wind, and made themselves a hot pot of coffee, and ate a frugal lunch. Tom sat up for a few minutes and the others were glad to see that the journey had done him no harm, either physically or mentally.
By the middle of the afternoon it was snowing again and they had all they could do to keep to the trail. The old miner shook his head dubiously.
"Reckon as how we're up against it," was his comment. "If it gits much wuss we'll have to look fer another shelter, boys."
The wind had let up during the middle of the day, but now it commenced to blow with a suddenness that was alarming. It sent the whirling snow into their faces with pitiless fury and almost blinded them, while they breathed with difficulty.
"Got to git out o' this, an' mighty quick too!" gasped Jack Wumble.
"Which way shall we turn, Jack?" questioned Dick. "I can't see at all."
"I think thar's a woods below—let's strike fer that, lad. It will mean shelter an' firewood, at least."
They hurried on, pulling the long drag after them. They were in a valley and suddenly they came to a broad patch of ice and Sam went sprawling on his back. His brother helped him to arise, and onward they went once more, but with added caution.
"This must be a lake," said Dick, as, after traveling for some time, they found the ice still under their feet. "Or else a river."