"Lost!" echoed Sam Randall and Dick Travers, as they looked at each other in alarm.
CHAPTER XX
WOLVES!
John Hackett's snow-shoe had caught upon a projecting log, and sent him sprawling. In his descent, his head brought up sharply against a low-hanging branch, and for a moment he lay stunned.
"Great Cæsar!" cried Bob. He stooped over and placed his hand upon Hackett's shoulder. "Hurt, Hacky?" he asked, anxiously.
"I hit my head an awful whack," replied Hackett, faintly.
Aided by his companion, he slowly rose to a sitting posture, but the blow had dazed him to such an extent that he remained almost motionless, while Bob Somers rubbed his forehead with snow.
"Feeling better now?"
"Yes—a little. My eye! I saw about fifty-six stars. It took all the strength out of me. Is there any mark, Somers?"