“But where are we heading, then?” George wanted to know, as Tom proceeded to tie the cord on Towser’s collar. “That’s more than I can say,” Tom made answer. “We’re in the hands of fate, as they say in books.” “Well, I’d rather hang to Towser’s tail,” spoke Jack, with grim humor. “I’m sorry I got you fellows into this mess,” went on Tom, as they advanced again through the storm and darkness, this time keeping the dog closer to them by means of the cord. “What mess?” asked Bert. “Getting lost, and all that.” “Forget it!” advised Jack. “It wasn’t your fault at all. You wanted to go back to No. 2 Camp, and the rest of us favored this move. I wish, now, we had taken your advice.” “Oh, well, mine was only a guess,” Tom said. “We might have been as badly off had we gone the other way. We’ll just have to trust to luck. Come on. But what I meant was that coming out to-day to hunt was my proposition. I was afraid there was a storm coming.” “We wouldn’t have stayed home on that account,” George asserted. “We’re all in the same boat together, and we’ll have to sink or swim--or skate,” he added, as the icy wind smote him. It was now about six o’clock, but as dark as it would have been at midnight. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds, but of course the white snow made it lighter than otherwise would have been the case. But in the dense woods even this did not add much to the comfort of our friends, and its increasing depth made it harder to walk. Almost before the boys knew it, they had emerged from the forest to a road. They could tell that at once. “Hurray!” cried Tom. “Now we’ll be all right. A good road to follow.” “And a signpost, too, to tell us which way to go!” added Jack. He pointed through the storm to where was evidently a crossroad, at the intersection of which was a post with the familiar boards on it. “What does it say?” asked Bert, as Tom stood at the foot of it. “Have to get out the electric light,” Tom said, producing a pocket flashlight. By its powerful tungsten gleam, he read: SEVEN MILES TO RAMSEN “That’s the ticket!” he cried. “Ramsen is the way we want to go. Camp No. 3 lies in that direction. Now we’re all right, boys!” “Good old signpost!” murmured Jack. But, had he only known it, the signpost was a “bad” one, though, as we know, that was not the fault of the post itself. Trudging along the road was easier now, and the boys made better time. But it was tiresome work at that. And when, a little later, they saw a building looming up at one side of the road, Bert cried: “There’s our camp now!” For a moment they thought it was, but a closer look showed that it was not. It was an old deserted hut, almost in ruins, and as Tom flashed his light within, a sorry sight was presented to the eyes of the boys. “Let’s go inside,” was Tom’s proposal, and his chums looked at him in some amazement. CHAPTER XVII SPIED UPON “What do we want to go in there for?” asked Jack, at length.