“I hope so,” answered Norman, but not very confidently.
“We ought to be there by seven o’clock!” retorted Roy.
“That’s all right,” said Norman in turn, “but I’ve seen snow in the daytime so heavy that it might as well have been night.”
“Anyway, as long as we don’t lose the river,” suggested Roy, “we can’t go far wrong. And the compass ought to help some.”
“A compass is all right to keep you in a general direction,” answered Norman, “but the best of them, in a three hundred mile run, won’t land you at any particular street number.”
“I think,” suggested Roy again, a little later, “that we might as well put up these shelters and have something to eat.”
By this time the wind had died somewhat and the volume of the snow had increased. It was falling so heavily that the top of the car was white. Norman’s silence giving approval, Roy managed to elevate the protecting sections, which in turn immediately began to be plastered with soft flakes. Almost at once part of the section on the lee side, which by good chance happened to be the one next to the river, was lowered again that the pilot might get a clear view. Then Roy opened Philip’s bag of food.
“Don’t shoot,” he protested. “What’s the use?”