“Towser, you old rascal!” Tom exclaimed. “Why don’t you lead us back to camp?” “Or to Sam Wilson’s,” added Bert. “That would be good enough on a pinch, until we get straightened out. Home, old fellow! Wilson’s farm! Lead the way!” The dog barked and leaped about, but he did not show any inclination to take any particular direction through the snow-covered wilderness. He seemed to want to follow, rather than lead. “I don’t believe he knows where Sam Wilson’s place is,” was Tom’s opinion, after watching the animal for a while. “I guess he’s as badly lost as we are,” said Bert. For a few seconds the boys stood there rather at a loss what to do. They had done their best, but they did not seem to be on the way to success. The storm was worse than when it first started. It still snowed hard, and the wind, while not as strong as it had been during the night, was still cold and cutting. The boys turned their backs to it as they stood there huddled together, hardly knowing what to do next. Towser, finding he was not wanted immediately, to trail a bear or some other game, devoted his energies to burrowing in a snowbank. “Well, I would like to know where we are,” said Tom at length. “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to go back to the deserted cabin?” asked Jack. “It might not be so bad, if we knew where it was,” agreed Tom. “We could at least take that for a starting point, and try to head for Camp No. 2,” Jack went on. “I’d be satisfied with that, as long as we can’t locate No. 3.” “Oh, I side with you there, all right, old man,” Tom said, “but _where_ does the old cabin lie?” “Off there!” said Bert, pointing to the right. “No, it’s over there,” was the opinion of George, and he indicated the left. “It’s right behind you,” insisted Jack. “And I should say it was in front of us,” spoke Tom. “So you see we each have a different opinion, and, as long as we can’t agree, what are we going to do about it?” “That’s so,” admitted Jack. “But we can’t stay here doing nothing. We’ve got to get somewhere.” “Somewhere is very indefinite,” was the remark George made. “It’s very easy to say it, but hard to find it. If we could only get back on the road, we could head in either direction, and some time or other we would get somewhere. But now we are in the woods and we may be heading right toward the middle of the forest instead of toward the edge. And these forests are no little picnic groves, either.” “I should say not!” Tom exclaimed. “But where is the road? That’s the question.” It was a question no one could answer, and they did not try. Eagerly and anxiously they scanned the expanse of snow for some indication that a road existed--even a rough, lumberman’s highway.