Part 22 (1/2)

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!