The Rover Boys In The Mountains Part 22

They came to a standstill, more perplexed than ever. Sure enough, there were two sets of footprints, running almost at right angles to each other.

"I guess we've hit somebody else's trail," said Sam. "d.i.c.k! Mr. Barrow!

Where are you?" he called out.

No answer came back, and then the two boys shouted in chorus. All remained as silent as before.

"Well, this is a mess, to say the least," was Tom's comment. "How are we to know which trail to follow?"

"I move we make a sure thing of it and get down to the river again," was Sam's answer. "Then we'll be certain to be on the right track. As soon as they reach the river they'll wait for us."

This seemed sensible advice, and leaving both trails the boys plunged through the cedar brakes to where they had seen the icy surface of the stream. They had to make several turns, and once Tom lost his footing and rolled over and over in the snow. But at last they gained the smooth ice, and then each breathed a long sigh of relief.

"It's ten times better than climbing around," observed Sam. "The rapids and rocks amount to next to nothing. I don't see why Mr. Barrow gave us all that extra climbing."

"Perhaps the river has changed since he was up here last," said Tom.

"Anyway, it's a good bit narrower here than it was further back."

Sliding down the hillside had loosened the load on the sled, and they had to spend a good five minutes in fastening it and mending a strap that had broken. Then several minutes more were consumed in putting on their skates.

"My! how it does snow!" came from Tom, as they started at last. "I can't see fifty feet ahead."

"Nor I, Tom. I really wish we were with d.i.c.k and Mr. Barrow."

"So do I, but I guess it's all right."

Forward they pushed, dragging the sled after them. It was rough work, and the ice was often covered too deep with snow to make skating a pleasure.

"It seems to me the river is getting narrower than ever," said Sam.

"It's queer, too, for Mr. Barrow said it was quite broad near the lake."

"He said one of the branches was broad, Sam. We must be on a different branch."

"Let us call to them again."

Once more they cried out, at the top of their lungs. But nothing answered them, not even a m.u.f.fled echo. All was swallowed up in the loneliness of the situation and in the fast falling snow, which now covered even the load on the sled to the depth of an inch or more.

"Come on," said Sam half desperately. "We must catch up to them, sooner or later."

"Perhaps we are ahead of them."

"It isn't likely. Let us go on, anyway."

And on they went, another quarter of a mile. The stream was now broader, and this raised their hopes considerably. But suddenly Tom gave a cry of dismay.

"Look, Sam! We have reached the end of the stream!"

Sam strained his eyes and went on a few feet further. Then he gave a groan. His brother was right, the stream had come to an end in a pond probably a hundred feet in diameter. They had not been following the Perch River at all, but merely a brook flowing into that stream!

CHAPTER XVII.

AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY.

"Tom, we have missed it!"

"It looks like it, Sam."

"What we took for the river wasn't the river at all. We must be a mile or two out of the way."

"There is nothing to do but to go back," was the dismal response.

"Don't you think we might strike the river without going back?"

"We might, and then again we might not. I hardly feel like taking the risk--in this blinding snow."

With heavy hearts the brothers turned the sled around and proceeded on the back trail, if such the way may be called. As a matter of fact, the snow had covered their footprints completely.

The wind was now rising again, and it blew directly into their faces.

Alarmed more than ever, on this account, they pushed on until poor Sam was almost winded.

"I--I can't go on so fast, no use in trying!" he panted. "I feel ready to drop!"

"I'm f.a.gged out myself," responded Tom. "But, Sam, we can't afford to rest here."

"I know that, but I've got to get my wind back somehow. The wind seems to be awfully strong."

They rested for several minutes, and then pushed on again, Tom dragging the sled alone. It was a bitter journey, and both would have given a good deal to have been with d.i.c.k and the guide once more.

"We missed it when we didn't keep up with them in the first place," was Tom's comment. "However, there's no use in crying over spilt milk, as the saying goes. We must make the best of it."

"There isn't any best," grumbled Sam. "It's all worst!" And then Tom laughed, in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

At last they gained the spot where they had first struck the brook, and here they halted again.

"The worst of it is, there is no telling how far this brook runs before it empties into the Perch River," observed Tom. "We may have to go two or three miles out of our way."

"We may as well climb up the hill again, Tom, and try to follow one of those trails."

"Perhaps you are right."

They talked the matter over and at last began to climb the hill, now more difficult than before, since the snow was several inches deeper.

It took a long while to gain the top, and still longer to find the spot where they had left the trail.

"Here we are," said Tom, resting on a fallen tree which marked the locality. "Now the all-important question is, which way next?"

"Tom, I believe we are getting lost," came from Sam, in a dismal tone.