"It's all my fault!" he exclaimed, regretfully. "Powerful wrong ter ask you fellers ter come on sich a trip. An' I kep' straight ahead, never lookin' back. Yardsley, you're a reg'lar dub."
"The trail must be lost completely by this time," said Sam Randall, a moment later. "You can't even see it right back of the sled."
"I know this here place purty well," was Yardsley's response. "I kin foller the route back all right. Thar's one thing," he added, brightening up a bit.
"What's that?" asked Sam.
"The cap'n's got a good head, on good, square shoulders. He ain't no fool. An' that long-legged chap is full of grit."
"But this is an awful storm," said Sam Randall, and his moody tone indicated how apprehensive he felt.
Disconsolately, the trio pushed along, shouting and firing by turns.
"There's a chance that they may have gone back to camp," said Dick Travers, at length.
"But we don't want to give up until everything is done to find them," added Randall.
"Right you are, mate. John Yardsley would give all his winter's work ter see them chaps afore him."