Clutching each other tightly, they staggered forward, trying to follow the tracks of the sled runners. But before they had covered twenty-five feet, the blowing snow had obliterated the trail. Sandy continued on doggedly in the direction he thought the team had taken, dragging Jerry with him. Every few steps he would stop and call: “Char-ley! Char-ley!” But there was no answer—only the moaning of the wind and the hiss of the snow beating against the fabric of their parkas.
Once more Jerry sagged to his knees. “We’re lost, pal,” he muttered. “Look, I’m exhausted. I can’t go a step farther. You go ahead and look for Charley. When you find him, you can come back for me.”
“Don’t be crazy, Jerry. Our best chance is to stick together. If we keep walking, we’re bound to catch up to the team. Once Charley finds we’re gone, he’ll stop and wait for us.”
Jerry’s voice cracked. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face. We don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction.”
While he was speaking, a low, mournful howl drifted to them on the wind from somewhere on their left. Sandy clutched Jerry’s arm. “You hear that?” he said tensely.
Jerry’s voice brightened. “That must be the team. C’mon.” With renewed vigor, he veered off in the direction of the howling.
Sandy grabbed him with both hands. “No, wait! It could be a wolf.”
Jerry stopped dead. “Oh my gosh!” he murmured. “What are we going to do?”
Sandy dusted the snow that had crusted on his eyebrows with the back of one mitten. “I don’t know. I still think we’re heading in the right direction. Let’s go a little farther. If we don’t find Charley and the team soon, we can always head over that way.”
The snow was coming down so hard now that every breath was an effort. Sandy felt as if he were being smothered in a sea of white cotton. He stopped as the howling broke out again, in a chorus this time.