“These men have lost their way,” he exclaimed.
“They are going round in a circle. Look here—they have crossed their own track.”
The evidence was unmistakable.
“Then what are we to do?” asked Roderick. “I suppose we hardly know where we are ourselves now,” he added, looking uneasily around.
“I have my pocket compass—luckily I never travel without it in the mountains. But I think it is prudent that we should lose no further time in making for Encampment.”
“And Grant Jones?”
“He can look after himself. He is on skis, and knows every foot of the Dillon trail.”
“Then Grady and Bledsoe?”
“Their fate is in other hands. If we follow them any longer we will undoubtedly be caught in the storm ourselves.” He held a hand aloft. “See, the wind is rising. There will be heavy drifting before long.” Roderick now felt the swirl of driven snow on his cheeks. Yes, the wind had risen.
“But we’ll endeavor to save them,” continued Buell Hampton. “Perhaps, as they are circling round, they are not far away from this spot even now. We will try at all events.”