“An idea, but no good,” Robert responded, forcing a grin.
“Well, you needn’t grin about it. I don’t see anything comical about the prospect of being buried under several tons of snow,” chided Taggert.
The wind had fashioned a sheltered hollow in the lee of the rock where they had taken refuge. The intense cold which prevailed in spite of the heavy snowfall, however, made it imperative that they keep in motion to avoid being frozen. Already Robert recognized a warning feeling of drowziness. He shook himself alert with an effort.
“Can’t sit here,” he said, suiting the action to the word by rising and stamping his feet. Stabbings as of a thousand needles seemed to run through them at first. If only there were some fuel! Matches they had in plenty.
Taggert struck a listening attitude. A familiar humming was faintly audible above the whine of the blizzard!
Together they listened with bated breath as the humming grew plainer. Alas, a few moments later it passed away, and with it went their hopes.
“Missed us,” ejaculated Taggert, with an involuntary oath.
The realization that the Sphere had just passed them by in a vain search for them brought their already drooping spirits to zero for a while. Here had been safety and comfort within perhaps a few rods, and they had been unable to make their presence known. Robert pictured Professor Palmer’s anxious gaze as he peered downward into the veil of flying snow.
“Cheer up, Tag,” Robert admonished, with an attempt at enthusiasm which his feelings belied. “The professor will be doubling back trying to find us. He’ll run up on us yet.”
“Maybe he will—if he doesn’t bounce the old ball into the lake,” replied Taggert, doubtfully. “Say, I wish one of us had brought a ‘gat’ along so that we could signal him if he gets near us again.”