“If you’ll do that, it’s all right,” replied Brick. “It’s a long distance to where we left the boys, and I might get lost by myself. It must be dinner time now.”
“I reckon it is,” admitted Raikes.
He looked up at the sun, which was dimly visible through a bank of fleecy clouds.
“Shall we have a bite to eat?” asked Bogle, glancing at the sled.
Raikes shook his head.
“Better not stop now,” he replied. “Every minute is precious.”
They pushed on rapidly, spurring Brick to greater efforts by repeated words of cheer. Now and then they bent over to examine Sparwick’s trail, or whispered together in low tones.
An hour after midday, a strip of open ground was reached. It had probably been devastated at one time by a forest fire.
Sparwick’s trail led across the clearing to within a dozen feet of a brook. Then it turned abruptly and entered the thick forest, in the direction of the lake.
Raikes stooped down, and intently examined the imprint of the snowshoes.