"Now then, forward march!" shouted Dick. And on they moved, in
Indian file.
"Route step!" shouted Frank. And they broke up as ordered—that is each walking to suit himself, so that their feet should not come down on the ice at the same time, something which might have cause another cracking.
The snow still came down as hard as ever—indeed, to Dick it appeared to come down harder. The wind was beginning to rise again and blew the blinding particles directly into their faces.
"What's the use of walking right in the teeth of the wind," grumbled Tom. "Why not try the other way?"
"I think the wind comes from off shore, that's why," answered his elder brother.
"I don't. I think it's coming down the lake."
"I believe Dick is right," ventured Frank. "The wind came that way before—that is why we were blown out so far."
The matter was put to a vote and all but Tom agreed that they must be heading for the western shore of the lake. So the weary tramp was resumed.
It was not without its incidents. Once Hans' feet went from under him and he went flat on his back, taking Tom with him. This caused the line to tighten and all went on top of the pair and a grand melee resulted. Then Tom playfully filled Sam's neck with snow, and Hans let a little snowball drop into Tom's ear, and in a second all were at it in a snow fight which lasted several minutes.
At last Dick arose and shook himself. "Hi! this won't do!" he cried, brushing himself off. "Unless we hurry we'll be late in getting back."