“What did you fellows go to sleep for when you were driving, anyhow?”
“You’ll have to go back on your tracks till you find the road again.”
Questions and offers of advice were numerous.
Sherm had walked a short distance back, exploring. He returned in time to hear this last remark.
“The trouble is, Grant, the snow hasn’t left us 331any tracks. Two hundred yards back you can hardly see where we came.”
The others began to wake to the seriousness of the situation.
“Haven’t you any idea where we are, Dart?”
“Not the faintest notion, except that we are somewhere between Elm and Big John. Perhaps Jane might know. She usually has a sixth sense for direction.
“Chicken Little,” he called, “do you mind getting out and seeing if you can tell us where we are?”
Chicken Little was on the ground with a spring before Sherm could help her. She strained her eyes through the gloom. She, too, examined the ground, then, accompanied by Sherm and Hardy, waded through the snow for several hundred yards in each direction, the men kicking the snow in the hope of finding the track. Finally, Chicken Little gave it up.