When Hardy took the reins again, Sherm still peered ahead, watching the road. He had been finding something vaguely unfamiliar about the landscape, though this was not strange since neither house nor tree nor haystack was visible through the storm until they were almost upon it. Then it loomed up suddenly shrouded and spectral. This feeling of strangeness grew upon him and he felt uneasy. "Stop the team a minute, Hardy." Sherm got down and went to the horses' heads, peering all about. He scraped the snow away with his foot and examined the ground. He let out a shrill whistle of dismay, as he uncovered grass spears instead of the hard-trodden road bed. "Say, Hardy, we're off the road. I thought so from the way the sled was dragging." Hardy climbed hastily down with an exclamation that sounded profane. The boys in the sleigh also piled hurriedly out. They soon assured themselves of the sorrowful fact. "What can we do?" "Isn't there a house somewhere near where we can inquire?" "What did you fellows go to sleep for when you were driving, anyhow?" "You'll have to go back on your tracks till you find the road again." Questions and offers of advice were numerous. Sherm had walked a short distance back, exploring. He returned in time to hear this last remark. "The trouble is, Grant, the snow hasn't left us any tracks. Two hundred yards back you can hardly see where we came." The others began to wake to the seriousness of the situation. "Haven't you any idea where we are, Dart?" "Not the faintest notion, except that we are somewhere between Elm and Big John. Perhaps Jane might know. She usually has a sixth sense for direction. "Chicken Little," he called, "do you mind getting out and seeing if you can tell us where we are?" Chicken Little was on the ground with a spring before Sherm could help her. She strained her eyes through the gloom. She, too, examined the ground, then, accompanied by Sherm and Hardy, waded through the snow for several hundred yards in each direction, the men kicking the snow in the hope of finding the track. Finally, Chicken Little gave it up. "I don't know a blessed thing more than the rest of you. But I have the feeling we must be near Charlie Wattles' place--you know that old darkey. You see the wind was right in our faces most of the way, and it isn't now. It's coming obliquely--course the wind may have changed. Let's try heading west a while--and see if we can find the road. Let me sit up there with you and Sherm; I might see something I'd recognize." "Chicken Little, you'd freeze," objected Sherm. "Not any sooner than you will, Sherman Dart." "We can wrap her up in a blanket and she might help us--we have got to get out of this some way. It's ten o'clock."