There was no reply. If the youngest Rover was nearby he was in no condition to answer the call.
A full hour had elapsed since that terrific gust of wind had tumbled the hut down on the river, for such the sheet of water proved to be. Then had followed a tornado, or hurricane, or cyclone, the boys and the old miner could not tell which. Hut and occupants had been carried along the stream on the ice with the velocity of an express train. From the river they had been swept out over a lake, and finally had landed in a big bank of snow with a crash that had shattered the hut into fragments.
All had been so shaken up that for some minutes nobody could speak. The old miner was the first to recover and he had stumbled around until he found Dick, who was holding poor Tom in his arms. Both of the brothers had been pretty well pounded, but were otherwise uninjured by their thrilling experience.
It was snowing again, the snow now coming down in regular "chunks" as Dick said. The wind had gone down a little, but was still blowing fiercely. All was dark around the remains of the hut.
"Sam! Sam!" yelled Dick, again and again, and staggered around in the snow, searching for the missing one. Then he landed on the ice of the lake and went flat on his back, and Jack Wumble came after him. As they picked themselves up they heard a faint cry and caught sight of Sam, lying but a few yards away.
"Are ye hurted any, lad?" asked Wumble, who was first at the youngest Rover's side.
"I—I don't know," gasped Sam. "Some—something struck me on th—the head."
With the assistance of the old miner and Dick he arose to his feet, and all three staggered back to where Tom had been left. The ruins of the hut rested against a snowbank, and, to get out of the wind, they crawled between the logs and the snow.
"This is the worst yet," was Dick's comment. "How are we ever to find our way back to Dawson from here?"
Nobody could answer that question. Just now they had all they could do to keep warm.