“I think so myself.  It must be Dick or Mr. Barrow, firing.”

“More than likely.  Let us follow up the shot.”

They listened, but no more shots followed, and then they went on, over a stretch which was comparatively smooth and free from brushwood.  But though they covered a quarter of a mile they saw nothing either of the river or of their lost companions.

“We’re getting lost more than ever,” groaned Sam.  “I declare I haven’t the least idea where we are.”

“I’m going to fire another shot,” answered his brother, and proceeded to do so.

Both listened with strained ears, and soon an answering shot came back, slightly to the left of the path they had been pursuing.

“Thank fortune, we are getting closer!” cried Sam.  “Come on!”

As worn out as they were, they resumed the dragging of the sled through the snow.  Once Sam had suggested they abandon the load, but Tom would not hear of this, for he knew they could not very well do without this portion of the outfit.

The wind was blowing heavily, and high overhead they heard the tree-tops creak ominously.  Once in a while a tree branch would unload itself, sending down a great mass of snow on their heads.  But they pushed on, determined to rest no more until the others of the party should be sighted.

Presently they came to a clearing overlooking a small pond and a stream beyond.  At first Tom imagined that this was the pond they had left but a short while before, but a second look showed him that the locality was an entirely new one to them.

“My gracious, Tom!  Get out of sight!” came in an excited whisper from Sam, and he pulled his brother down behind a clump of bushes, and then dragged the sled after him.

“What do you see?” demanded Tom.

“Look across the pond.  As sure as you are born, there are Dan Baxter and Jasper Grinder.  We’ve been following them instead of Dick and Mr. Barrow!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

In the camp of the enemy.

What Sam said was true.  There, gathered around a fire on the opposite side of the pond, were Dan Baxter, Jasper Grinder, and a tall, powerfully built fellow whom they easily guessed was Bill Harney, the guide.  They had two sleds with them, and one of these had been unloaded and the camping outfit lay scattered around.

“Well, this is a surprise and no mistake!” was Tom’s comment, in a low voice.  “If I know anything about it, they must have done some quick traveling.”

“I believe they followed the river, at least part of the way,” returned the youngest Rover.  “I see a pair of skates lying by one of the sleds.”

“Do you suppose Dick and Mr. Barrow met them?”

“I don’t believe they did.  See, they have some rabbits they are going to cook.  That accounts for the shots we heard.”