There were no
footprints to be seen, but that meant nothing, for the snow
covered up all tracks almost as soon as they were made.
For twenty minutes more they hurried along as well as they could
through the snow that clogged and clung to their feet, and at last
the truth forced itself upon their unwilling minds.
"No use, fellows," said Frank, as he stopped and the others
gathered around him. "There's no use kidding ourselves any longer.
We might as well own up to it that we've taken the wrong trail."
"Guess you're right, old man," said Tom disconsolately. "It simply
wouldn't be possible for us not to have caught up to them at the
rate we've been going. We're up against it for fair, and the
question is, how we're going to get out of it. Getting snowbound
in this wilderness doesn't make any hit with me."
"There's only one thing to do," said Frank decidedly, "and that is
to right about face and try to find the place where we turned
off."
"Swell chance," muttered Tom. "It's getting dark now by the
minute, and it'll be as black as pitch in a little while."
"I know it's a forlorn hope," admitted Frank, "but it's the only
thing to do just the same, and even forlorn hopes have a way of
winning out sometimes.
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