Nat put his hand on the pocket, from which his diminutive revolver could be seen to be outlined, and when the front door was opened a gust of wind and snow forced him, as well as Tom, back into shelter.
"Rough," commented Tom, "and almost dark."
"Fierce!" exclaimed Nat in pardonable disgust. "How in the world are we to get back?"
"Oh, can't we go now?" came from Dorothy. "It seems to be getting worse, and if we don't get out of here before dark——"
"Oh, let us go!" pleaded Tavia. "I am just scared to death. This sort of thing is all right for a page or two, but when it gets into a serial——"
"Not very interesting after the first glance, I'll admit," replied Tom; "but the nearest house must be half a mile away."
"Suppose we run the machine into the shed and start off to walk?" suggested Nat, now rather uncomfortable because of Tom's hint about the cellar. "It will be better for the girls, at any rate. There's a farmhouse at the turn into Glendale."
It did not take long for the party to follow out this proposal, and in spite of the wind and snow the four young people started bravely off, Nat supporting Dorothy, while Tom put his strong arm about the uncertain Tavia—uncertain because she not only slipped continually, but threatened to do so in between the actual occurrences.
"Awful!" called back Nat, who was somewhat in advance.
"And can't see even the path," yelled Tom, "This snow must have fallen all in one piece."