“Keep a lookout for game--even small kinds,” advised Tom, as they went on. “A rabbit or a squirrel wouldn’t come amiss now. We could manage to broil it over the coals of a fire, though it probably won’t be very nice looking.” “Who cares for looks when you’re hungry?” demanded Bert. But game did not show itself as the boys tramped on through the snow. They went on for some distance in the direction first decided on, but could see no familiar landmarks. Nor did they reach anything that looked like a road. “Better go back,” Tom decided, and they did manage to find the little clearing again. “Say!” cried Bert, as they stood irresolute as to which of the three remaining directions to select next, “aren’t we silly, though?” “Why?” asked Tom. “Why, because all we had to do was to follow our trail back in the snow. That would have led us to the old cabin.” Tom shook his head. “What’s the matter?” asked Bert. “Our footprints are blown or drifted over three minutes after we make them, in this wind and shifting snow,” Tom said. “Look!” He pointed over the route they had just come. Their earlier footprints were altogether gone. The expanse of snow was white and unbroken. “Well, we go this way next,” said Jack. “I remember because I saw that broken white birch tree. Head straight for that.” They did so, but again were doomed to disappointment. That way led to a low, swampy place, though there was no water in it at present, it having been frozen and covered with snow. “No road here,” Tom said. “Let’s try some other route.” “Say!” cried Jack. “What’s the sense of all four of us going in the same direction all the while? Why not try four ways at once? The one who finds the road can fire two shots in quick succession. The rest of us will then come to where we hear the shots.” “A good idea!” commented Tom. “We’ll try it. Scatter now, and don’t go too far. Oh, you’re coming with me, are you, Towser?” for the dog followed him, evidently considering Tom his master. The four boys now set off in different directions, and soon were lost to sight of one another in the storm. Tom was sure he was going the route that would take him to the road. He pressed on eagerly. The dog ran on ahead, and disappeared. “He’s fond of taking a lot of exercise,” was Tom’s mental comment. Then he saw some bushes, just ahead of him, being agitated and he went on: “No, he’s coming back. Maybe he’s found something.” Suddenly the bushes back of Tom parted with a crackling of the dry twigs. The lad thought perhaps it was some animal stirred up by the dog, and he was advancing his gun, to be in readiness, when he felt, all at once, something cover his head. He was in blackness, but he could tell by the smell that a bag had been thrust over his eyes. “Here. Quit that! Stop!” yelled Tom, and then his voice ended in a smothered groan. Something like a gag had been thrust between his lips and he was thrown heavily.