"Don't go too far," cautioned Mr. Baxter. "There's no telling when a snowstorm may come up, and you can lose your way very easily up here."
They started off, and, as Holfax had said it was rather dangerous to go into the forest because of the numbers of fierce wolves that might be there, they moved southward across the plain over which they had just come.
The sun shone brightly on the snow, which was unrelieved by a single dark object. It was one vast extent of dazzling white.
At first it was beautiful, so still and quiet, and with the sun up there was some relief from the piercing cold, that even seemed to strike through their thick garments. But there was a danger they did not know about.
"See tracks of anything?" asked Fred when they had gone some distance and were out of sight of the camp, which was down in a sort of hollow.
"No. Do you?"
"Not a thing. Let's keep on a little farther."
They walked on for perhaps another mile, their snowshoes making travel easy. But there was no sight of game. Not even a wolf showed itself.
"Guess we'd better go back," remarked Fred at length. "There doesn't seem to be anything here. Say, my eyes smart something fierce. How about yours?"
"Mine do, too. I wonder what it is?"