“Yes,” said Orkney very soberly; “yes, I’ll come.” CHAPTER XXV THE BLIZZARD The youthful adventurers were on the march, and were tramping along on their snow-shoes in high spirits. Long-legged Step led, followed in order by Poke, Herman Boyd, the Trojan and the Shark. Then came Orkney, lagging a little, with Sam at his heels. All were warmly clothed, but their luggage was of the lightest, being limited, indeed, to a small axe, carried in a holster, attached to Herman’s belt. For a half mile the tote road led through a growth of pine and spruce; but then, at the crest of a little hill, they came to a more open tract. The road bent to the left; but straight before them was an inviting slope. Sam saw the leaders halt and put their heads together. When he came up to them Step was speaking eagerly. “Why not, fellows? Gee, but we might as well have all the fun that’s going! Who wants to go poking along an old sleigh track when he might be cutting across country? And think of what we’d save! Mr. Kane said the road made a right angle--you figure it out, Shark.” “Huh! No given quantities,” snapped the Shark. “Why not? Call it fifteen miles to Coreytown. Say the angle is half-way. What’s the answer, Old Skeesicks?” “Nine-decimal-point-two-plus,” answered the Shark promptly. Step was exultant. “What did I tell you! Six miles to the good!” “But what’s the direction?” demanded Sam. “Why, straight ahead,” said Step, and pointed down the slope. “How do you know?” “Must be.” “I don’t see why.” Poke took a hand. “Look here, Shark! Can’t you figure out the course?” The Shark frowned. “You never heard of the word ‘exact,’ did you? You want me to treat a wiggling road like two straight lines meeting at a right angle. But if you’ve got to assume everything, you might as well pile it on. So, if you assume that there is a right angled, isosceles triangle--two sides equal, understand?--then each of the acute angles will be of forty-five degrees. And so, to travel to the hypothenuse, you’d steer forty-five degrees from the line of the road.” “Oh, sure!” said Step hastily. “Sure you would! But I haven’t a compass, or dividers, or--or whatever it is you use.” “Got a watch, haven’t you?” snorted the Shark. “Well, use that! Fifteen minutes on the dial equals ninety degrees. Forty-five degrees is the same as seven minutes, thirty seconds. There’s your angle for you. Hang it! don’t you fellows know anything?” Step pulled out his timepiece. “Fine! Just as I said--straight ahead. And say! See that big hill--way off--pointed top! It’s a bit misty, but it’s right on our line, and it makes a cracking landmark. Come on, you chaps!” “Suits me,” said Poke. “Ditto,” declared the Trojan. “Here also,” chimed in Herman Boyd. The Shark, scornfully indifferent, said nothing. Tom Orkney also was silent. It was a trifle, but significant: he was with the club, but not of it.