“If there are three, those footprints are on the trail we were supposed to take,” said Paul Bird.
Frank agreed that this seemed the right conclusion.
“And the sign was posted at this spot because of its being a place where all men going through this trail must stop,” he went on, after agreeing with Paul.
They followed the trail on which the footprints were being rapidly obliterated by the falling flakes.
Heavier and heavier fell the snow as the boys proceeded, making their way around a hill and then dropping again into a small valley, catching here and there on bushes to hold themselves back on the stiff incline.
Reaching the bottom of the trail, which turned off to the left again, the snow was falling so hard they were able to see but a short distance ahead.
“Fellows,” Frank stopped at the bottom and looked in all directions, “we’re not on any trail. This is a blind one. It takes us nowhere.”
The other three boys looked about them, in one direction, in another, and back up the way they had come.
“It’s sure this doesn’t go any farther,” agreed Lanky Wallace.
“Let’s get back to the top and look things over again,” Frank suggested, leading the way.