“Nothing would be bad where there was a warm fire and plenty of grub,” commented Bert. “But call that dog back, Tom, or we’ll lose him again. He’s off there somewhere, barking to beat the band!” Tom whistled shrilly. A series of barks came in answer, and, a little later the dog himself came bounding through the snow. His muzzle was all whitened where he had been burrowing, perhaps after some luckless rabbit. But his bright eyes were glowing as the boys could see in the half-darkness that had fallen, and Towser, as they continued to call him, for want of a better name, seemed delighted at something or another. Whether it was the storm, the fun he had had trailing the bear, or whether he was just glad to be with the boys, and happy over the prospect of adventures to come, no one could say. The dog barked, wagged his tail, ran on a little way, came back, barked some more, ran on again, and then repeated the performance over and over, getting more and more excited all the while. “He wants us to follow him,” decided Tom. “All right, old man, I’m with you,” he said. “Come on, boys. We’ll see what comes of it.” Together the four hunters set off with the dog in the lead. Truth to tell they did not feel very much like hunters that day, nor had they had any luck. Matters seemed to be going against them. And in the storm and darkness there was a distinct feeling of depression over everyone. The dog was really the only cheerful creature there, and he had spirits enough for all of them, could they but be transferred. “Whew! This _is_ a storm!” cried Tom, as he bent his head to the blast. It did seem to be getting worse. The wind had a keener cut and whirled the sharp flakes of snow into one’s face with stinging force. “It’s a young blizzard,” affirmed Jack. “Well, if it does this in its youthful days, what will happen when it grows up?” Bert wanted to know, as he paused and turned around to get the wind out of his face while he caught his breath. No one took the trouble to answer him. The dog seemed impatient at the slow progress of the lads, for he was now well ahead of them. They could only tell where he was by his barks, and by an occasional flurry of snow as he burrowed in some drift and then scrambled out again. “Better call him back again, Tom,” suggested George. “He’ll get away beyond us, and soon it will be so dark we can’t see our hands before our faces.” “Yes, I guess I will,” Tom assented. “I’d put a leash on him if I had a bit of cord, and hold him back.” “Here’s some,” Jack said, offering a piece. “I had it tied around the package of sandwiches.” “By the way--any of those same sandwiches left?” asked Tom. “A few--why?” “Because that may be all we’ll get to eat to-night.” “What’s that?” cried Bert. “Aren’t we going toward camp?” “That’s what I can’t say,” was Tom’s answer, as he whistled for the dog. “We may, and then, again, we may not.”