"What's the next directions?" questioned Tom.
"'Go due southwest from the pine tree sixty-two paces,'" answered Dick, reading from the translation given him. "Which is southwest, Mr. Barrow?"
"Soon tell ye that," answered the guide, and brought forth his pocket compass. "That way." And he pointed with his arm.
With the compass to guide them they set off, the guide in the lead once more, and Dick counting off the sixty-two paces with great care. The way was up a hillside and over half a dozen rough rocks, and then into a hollow where the snow was up to their waists.
"No use of talking, this is treasure-hunting under difficulties," was Sam's comment. "Perhaps we would have done better had we left the hunt till summer time."
"And let Baxter get ahead of us?" put in Tom. "Not much!" He turned to Dick. "What's the next directions on the paper?"
"There ought to be a flat rock here, backed up by a sharp-pointed one," answered the eldest Rover. "I don't see anything of a sharp-pointed rock, do you? The flat rock may be under us."
"No sharp-pointed rock within a hundred feet of here," answered Sam, gazing around. He began scraping away the snow. "Dirt under us, too."
"That settles it, then. Trial No. 1 is a failure. Mr. Barrow, we'll have to try the next stream."
"So it would seem, Dick. Well, you boys mustn't expect too easy work o' it. A big treasure aint picked up every day."