“Why, isn’t he with you?” asked Bert, in some surprise. “I haven’t seen anything of him.” “He’s probably off searching for a highway,” said George, hopefully. “We’ll fire a few more shots.” They fired more than a few, but received no response from Tom, and we well know the reason why, though his chums did not at the time. “Well, what had we better do?” asked Jack, at length. “I’m about all in, and I guess you fellows feel about the same.” “I would like something to eat,” admitted Bert. “And I’m terribly cold,” confessed George, who was shivering. “Well, let’s look about a bit on either side of this road, then go up and down it a ways, and keep firing and shouting,” suggested Jack. “We may find Tom. If we don’t--well, I think we’d better see where this road goes.” They adopted that plan, but though they shouted vigorously, and fired many shots, there came no answer from Tom. The exercise and the shouting, however, had one good result. It warmed George so he was no longer in danger of coming down with pneumonia. “Well, it’s six of one and a half dozen of the other,” said Bert, at length. “What shall we do, and which way shall we go on this road to get to camp?” “We’d better try to find one of the cabins,” said Jack. “And I think this direction seems to be the most likely,” and he pointed to the left. “Go ahead; I’m with you,” said Bert, and George nodded assent. “What about Tom, though?” asked George, anxiously. “Well, we can’t find him. He may have gone on ahead, or he may still be searching for a road. In either case he’s too far off for us to make him hear--that’s evident. And we may find him just as well by trying to make our way back to camp as staying here,” said Jack. So it was decided to do this, and off they started. The storm did not seem quite so fierce now. In fact, there were indications that the fall of snow was lessening. But a great deal had fallen, making walking difficult. The cold was intense, but it was a dry cold, not like the damp, penetrating air of New Jersey, and the boys stood it much better. They had not gone far before Jack uttered a cry. “Here he comes! There’s Tom!” he shouted, pointing at a figure advancing toward them through the mist of flakes that were still falling, but more lazily now. “It’s someone, but how do you know it’s Tom?” asked Bert. “Who else would it be?” Jack wanted to know. “It might be--Skeel,” suggested George. “Or that--bear!” and, as he said this, Bert advanced his gun. “Nonsense--that’s no bear!” exclaimed Jack. “It isn’t Tom though, either,” he added, as the figure came nearer. A moment later they all saw at once who it was. “Sam Wilson!” exclaimed Bert. “That’s good! Now he can tell us what to do, and where Tom is. Hello, Sam!” he called, for that was how everyone addressed the genial guide--even those who had met him only once or twice. “Hello yourselves!” Sam answered in greeting. “What are you fellows doing here?”