For another fifty feet they struggled manfully, until Tracey switched off the motor and brought the bike to a standstill.
"Spell-oh!" he announced, shaking the powdered snow from his cap. "I've had enough for a bit."
"If we stop we—like the drunken man—'goes over,'" declared Athol. "Every minute things are getting worse."
"Can't help it," rejoined Dick breathlessly. "Like the engine, I'm badly overheated."
For some moments the two chums stood still, taking in as much of the scenery as the snowstorm permitted, for so thick was the air with falling flakes that they could form no idea of the height of the hills on either hand.
Presently a horseman appeared, his mount floundering through the snow. So narrow was the track that in order to pass the bike and side-car he had to plunge into the drift.
"Pretty thick," remarked Athol.
"Ay, that it is," replied the man. "An' it's worse up yonder."
"Any village about here?" asked Dick.
"Not for some miles," was the reply. "And not a house, if it comes to that."