Everybody had expected that the tracks would lead directly to Lake Wolverine, but this did not prove to be the case. About a quarter of a mile from the shore, they veered off sharply in a northwesterly direction, and, unfortunately, this made traveling all the more difficult.
Whirling clouds of snow dashed in their faces and gusts of wind bore down upon them, but none uttered a word of complaint, as they plunged doggedly along, straining eyes and ears to catch any signs of the thieves.
"It's turnin' inter a reg'lar blizzard," groaned Yardsley. "Them tracks is gittin' lost a'ready."
"Keep it up," urged Bob.
"Don't fear, cap'n. You'll never ketch me a-givin' up while thar's the slightest chance."
"If it would only hold up for a few minutes, even," panted Dick Travers, as they paused for a moment in a deep ravine.
"It's going to be worse before it's better, Dick," said Hackett. "Whew! Listen to the wind in those trees."
"And we can't see very far ahead, now," broke in Sam. "It's getting thicker every minute."
"That it is, mate. Never calc'lated it would be ragin' like this so soon," and there was a tone in the trapper's voice which seemed to indicate that he had begun to have little hope of success.
On the crest of another hill, they could scarcely stand against the terrific blasts which swept along, carrying with them clouds of feathery particles. It was bitterly cold and the darkness unusual, even for a heavy winter storm. The valley was entirely lost to view.