hurriedly out. They soon assured
themselves of the sorrowful fact.

"What can we do?"

"Isn't there a house somewhere near where we can inquire?"

"What did you fellows go to sleep for when you were driving, anyhow?"

"You'll have to go back on your tracks till you find the road again."

Questions and offers of advice were numerous.

Sherm had walked a short distance back, exploring. He returned in time
to hear this last remark.

"The trouble is, Grant, the snow hasn't left us any tracks. Two hundred
yards back you can hardly see where we came."

The others began to wake to the seriousness of the situation.

"Haven't you any idea where we are, Dart?"

"Not the faintest notion, except that we are somewhere between Elm and
Big John. Perhaps Jane might know. She usually has a sixth sense for
direction.

"Chicken Little," he called, "do you mind getting out and seeing if you
can tell us where we are?"

Chicken Little was on the ground with a spring before Sherm could help
her. She strained her eyes through the gloom. She, too, examined the
ground, then, accompanied by Sherm and Hardy, waded through the snow for
several hundred yards in each direction, the men kicking the snow in the
hope of finding the track. Finally, Chicken Little gave it up.

"I don't know a blessed thing more than the rest of you. But I have the
feeling we must be near Charlie Wattles' place--you know that old
darkey. You see the wind was right in our faces most of the way, and it
isn't now. It's coming obliquely--course the wind may have changed.
Let's try heading west a while--and see if we can find the road. Let me
sit up there with you and Sherm; I might see something I'd recognize."

"Chicken Little, you'd freeze," objected Sherm.

"Not any sooner than you will, Sherman Dart."

"We can wrap her up in a blanket and she might help us--we have got to
get out of this some way. It's ten o'clock."

They drove about slowly for half an hour, but they could find nothing
that looked like a road. Some of the sleigh load were openly
apprehensive and inclined to blame Hardy for their plight, but for the
most part they were plucky and good-natured, trying to turn off their
growing fear with jests.

Chicken Little glued her eyes to the dimness ahead.

Sherm suggested that they give the horses their head.

"They'll try to go back to town if we do, and I don't believe they could
hold out--that off one is blowing pretty badly now. This snow