“That’ll do, Why!” exclaimed Tom. “We’ve got something else to do besides answering questions. Now, fellows, what is it to be--Camp No. 3 or Camp No. 2? We’ve got to decide.” “I say No. 3,” called out Bert. “Same here,” echoed Jack. “I’m with you,” was the remark of George. “Well, I don’t agree with you, but I’ll give in,” assented Tom. “The majority rules. But I think it would be better to go back to No. 2 Camp.” “Why?” asked Jack. “Because we know just where it is, and we know we can be sure of a warm place, and plenty to eat.” “Can’t we at No. 3?” asked George. “Maybe, and then again, maybe not. We certainly will have to hunt for it, and it’s only a chance that it may have wood and food stored there.” “Sam said it had,” observed Bert. “Yes, I know. But there have been men roaming about these woods that I wouldn’t trust not to take grub from an unoccupied cabin,” went on Tom. “However, we’ll take a chance, but I think it’s a mistake.” They turned about, and headed in as straight a line as they could for Camp No. 3. They knew the general direction, and had some landmarks to go by. The storm grew more and more fierce. The snow was almost as impenetrable as a fog, and there was a cold, biting wind. It stung the faces of the boys and made walking difficult. It was constantly growing darker. “I say!” called Bert, after a bit. He stopped floundering about in a drift, and went on: “I say, does anyone know where we are?” “On the road to Ramsen,” suggested Tom. “I don’t believe we are,” Bert resumed. “I think we’re off the trail--lost!” “Lost!” echoed George. “Yes, lost, and in a blinding snowstorm,” went on Bert. CHAPTER XVI THE DESERTED CABIN Bert’s words struck rather a chill to the hearts of his chums. Not that they were cowards, for they were not, and they had faced danger before, and were used to doing things for themselves. But now they were in a strange, mountain wilderness, following an unknown trail, and night was coming on rapidly. The storm had already burst, and it was growing worse momentarily. “Do you really think we are lost?” questioned Jack, looking about him as well as he could in the maze of white. “Don’t you?” responded Bert. “I can’t make out the least sign of a trail in these woods, and we have to follow one to get to Camp No. 3, you know.” “Yes, that’s right,” put in George. “We are going it blind.” “We’ve been going according to compass, since we gave up the hunt for the bear,” commented Tom. “Well, it will be more by good luck than good management if we find either camp now,” said Bert. “But come on--we’ve got to do something.” “Which way shall we go?” asked George. “We don’t want to get lost any worse than we are.” “We can’t!” spoke Bert, dryly--that is, as “dryly” as he could with snow forcing itself into his mouth. “We’re as lost as we’ll ever be. The thing now is to start finding ourselves.”