Sam’s expression was dubious. The “weather,” forecasted by the camp boss, seemed to be threatening to break. The low lying clouds had grown denser in the last quarter hour, and the wind was rising. In the shelter of the pines its strength had not been manifest, but once beyond the edge of the woods, nobody could fail to heed the force of the chilling blasts. Still, it would be as keen along the tote road as anywhere else. Sam was not losing sight of his motto of “Safety First”; but at the moment it did not occur to him that harm was likely to befall half a dozen active, able-bodied youngsters. Yet he hesitated. The plan had been to follow the road, and it had been approved by Mr. Kane. Step, confident in the support of a majority of the club, started down the hill. After him trailed the Trojan, Poke, Herman Boyd, and the Shark. There was nothing for Sam to do but to follow, in company with Tom Orkney. At first progress was easy. The snow was smooth, and though the wind increased it was at their backs. Presently there was a brisk snow squall, the tiny flakes driving in a blinding cloud. Step quickened his pace, and led the party to the shelter of a clump of trees. The squall passed, but left a narrowed horizon. The peak of the big hill, which was to have served as a guide-post, had vanished. There was even a good-natured dispute as to the general direction in which it lay. Step, insisting that he was certain of its bearings, set off again, leading in a détour about the grove. Then came a hill, not lofty but so steep that he circled its base. Down upon the squad swept another squall, fiercer than the first. The boys struggled through it, enjoyed a moment’s respite, and again found themselves in the midst of swirling, stinging clouds of icy particles. Orkney was having trouble with the snow-shoes he had borrowed from Mr. Kane; the Trojan took a header over a fallen tree; Poke slipped down a bank. None of the mishaps was serious, but together they served to bring the party to a halt. When the savage gusts subsided for a little the boys moved on. Step, as guide, did his best to hold a straight line, but failed signally. The country was broken, irregularly wooded, full of hummocks and tiny valleys as confusing as a maze. Moreover, the snowfall was becoming heavier, being so dense at times that it shut off the view as completely as if it were a fog. An over-tight thong made Herman Boyd fall out of line to readjust the fastenings of one of his snow-shoes; and he was so long in rejoining the party that Sam passed a word or two of caution. “Don’t straggle” was his advice. Its effect was seen in a closing of the gaps. By this time there was no shouting or joking. Nobody was frightened, but it had dawned upon the most heedless of the club that they had their work cut out for them. Halts became more frequent; in them there was a tendency to huddle.