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. Not a mark appeared. Both boys were chilled now, and their spirits drooped. The possibility of being lost on the mountain began to definitely form itself in their minds. "I'm mighty sorry I got you into this scrape, Van," Bob said after a long pause. "I was too cock-sure of myself. That comes of thinking you know it all." "Pooh! It wasn't your fault, Bob. I'd give a cent, though, to know where we are. Do you suppose we've been making any progress all this time, or just going round in a circle?" "Search me. I'll bet we've walked miles," groaned Bob. "I've got to rest if we never find the trail." He spoke wearily. "You're not going to sit down, Bob," Van retorted sharply. "Brace up. You've got to keep moving." "But I can't. I'm tired and--and--sleepy." His voice trailed off into a yawn. "I don't care." Van wheeled on his friend fiercely and striding up to him shook him violently by the shoulders. "Now pull yourself together!" he commanded. "Where's your nerve? Brace up or I'll rattle the daylights out of you." "I can't go another step." "You've got to. Start on ahead. Don't crawl that way--walk! Faster! Faster than that, do you hear? I'm just behind you, and I shall step on your heels if you lag. Keep it up. Go on." Panting, Bob obeyed. Suddenly he gave a cry. "What's the matter?" demanded Van. "There! There on the tree!" He pointed before him with trembling hand. "Your sweater!" Van pushed past him. "Sure as fate! My sweater! Blamed if it isn't." They both laughed weakly. "Then we've found the trail!" Bob almost sobbed the words. "We sure have! And hark, don't you hear voices? It's David, as I'm alive; and your father!" Aid had indeed come. "Father!" Bob shouted the word and then laughed again--this time a bit hysterically. "The rescuing party's right here!" called Mr. Carlton.