They heard faintly through the noise of the storm, and answered back. They succeeded for a time in keeping the end riders up toward the front, urging their somewhat jaded horses to a trot. Then, all at once, they found themselves out of sight of the tails of the end animals. "Hit is up a little," suggested Dick to Paul. "They're leaving us." They spurred their horses ahead, but they never noticed as they bent their heads to avoid the blast that they kept straight on, instead of taking the turn to the right, where the road divided. So fast was the snow falling, drifting as it did so, that the tracks of the horses just ahead of them were almost blotted out. "They must be galloping," said Dick. "Come on, Paul." They urged their wearied horses to a gallop, expecting soon to come within sight of the rear of the squad. But, as they went on and on, the road became more impassable. The snow was at least two feet deep now, and more was falling every minute. "I can't see anything of them," said Paul, peering ahead into the white mist. "Me either. Let's give a yell." They called, but the echo was their only reply. "Can you see any tracks?" asked Dick, leaning over in the saddle, and scanning the ground. "No. Can you?" "Not a one." The lads straightened up, and looked at each other. Their steeds whinnied helplessly, complaining thus of the cold. "Dick," said Paul, "I believe we've taken the wrong turn." "I didn't see any turn to take. We've come a straight road." "I don't believe so. Rutledge said something about turning to the right." "I know he did, but I didn't see any turn." "Neither did I, but we're certainly on the wrong road now. This hasn't been traveled this winter." "Looks that way. Say, we've come up the side of the mountain. I wondered what made the horses so blown." It needed but a glance to show that this was so. Unconsciously they had taken a path leading up the mountain, and they were now on what was evidently a wood-road, in the midst of a forest. As they stood there, vainly starting about, there came a fiercer burst of the storm, and on the wings of a stinging, cold wind there came such a cloud of snow flakes that they could not see ten feet ahead of them. "We're caught in a blizzard!" shouted Dick. "We must keep close together, Paul." CHAPTER XXIV THE RESCUE OF DUTTON Through the blinding snow the two cadets tried to peer, in order to see which way they should take to get back to the academy. Neither of them was very familiar with the country, though they had been over part of it in drills and practice marches in the fall. But things wore a different aspect now. "Which way had we better go?" asked Paul, after a pause. He had to shout to be heard above the noise of the gale. "I guess the best plan is to keep down the mountain," replied Dick. "We'll strike a road sooner or later leading to Kentfield."