"Have we passed it?" "No." "Then it's ahead of us." "It ought to be. I say, suppose we stop a minute and brush the snow off these trees so to make sure we really are on the trail." "A bully idea!" The boys put down their packs and reconnoitred. "There don't seem to be any marks on these trees," Van asserted after an interval of search. "But there must be." "Find them then--if you can." Bob nervously scrutinized several gnarled trunks. "You're right, Van," he owned at last. "We're off the trail; missed it somehow. We'd better go back; we can't be far wrong. Or better yet, you wait here while I hunt." Bob was very grave. "You bet I'm not going to be left here to be buried in snow like the Babes in the Wood," protested Van gaily. "No sir-ee! I don't stay here. I'll help hunt for the path too. Now don't go getting nervous, Bobbie, old chap. Two of us can't very well get lost on this mountain. We'll separate enough to keep within hallooing distance, and we'll tie a handkerchief on this tree so we can get back to it again if we want to. We know we're part way down, anyway. That's certain." "I don't feel so sure," was Bob's answer. "We ought to have turned back when it began to cloud up; but I never dreamed of snow. The family will be having a blue fit about us." "Cheer up! We'll get down all right, only it may take us a little longer," Van asserted. They branched into a side path. The snow swirled about them in blinding sheets, and their footing became heavy and slippery. Wandering on, they scanned the trees.