Enveloped in the whirling masses, the boys followed the trapper, whose form loomed up dimly in front. Now and then, he stooped to examine the trail, and occasionally encouraged them to renewed exertions, but the disheartening fact that the deep impressions must be speedily lost was apparent to all.
Faint as his hope was, however, Yardsley kept swinging along. Sure-footed, and accustomed to the woods, he got around the underbrush and fallen limbs in a manner that the others could not imitate.
Half blinded by the flakes, battered by the violent wind, they struggled along. Several times the wind veered sharply around and the boys no longer had an accurate idea of their direction. Every minute found them facing more discouraging conditions. Branches and twigs frequently came rattling about them and their progress was greatly impeded. Thus the pursuit continued for a long time.
Yardsley at length redoubled his efforts, pushing steadily forward, with great strides, so as to take advantage of the few minutes which remained before the trail would be entirely obliterated.
Suddenly Dick Travers pointed ahead, and uttered an exclamation.
Scarcely visible through the driving snow was an object which had neither the shape of a rock, stump, nor anything usually seen in the woods.
"The sled!—I'll bet it's the sled!" roared Dick.
"That's what I think," shouted Sam. "They've had to abandon it."
Close at his heels, the two boys pressed.
Sure enough, there was a sled—but empty.