There was no answer.
He searched about, going to left and right of the trail. He did not dare go far, being fearful of losing the trail himself. Frank was alarmed lest Joe had slipped and fallen on the rocks and injured himself. If he were unable to proceed he would freeze to death, lying helpless on the mountainside.
With this thought in his mind, he searched frantically. He tried to follow back up the trail, but the snow had swept over his footsteps and he soon found himself knee-deep in a heavy drift and he knew he had lost the path.
He tried to regain the trail, but the white screen of snow was like a shroud over the rocks and he had lost all sense of direction.
He floundered about in the snow aimlessly, but the trail constantly evaded him. Frank set his jaw grimly and went hither and thither, stopping every little while to shout. He knew that the wind drowned out his voice and he realized the futility of his cries, but still he hoped that there was just a chance that Joe might hear him.
Frank Hardy felt an overpowering sense of loneliness as he wandered about among the rocks and the deep drifts. He seemed to be alone in a world of swirling, shrieking winds and flailing snow that stormed down from a sky of leaden hue.
He shouted again and again, but to no avail.
It was mid-afternoon, but the sky was so dark that it seemed almost dusk. If darkness fell and they were lost out on the mountain there was little hope that they would survive until morning. They would perish from exposure.
“I’d better go back to Hank Shale’s place and get a searching party to come up and look for Joe,” he thought.
This seemed the only sensible solution. But when he turned and tried to find the trail down the mountain again he found that it eluded him. There was not the vestige of a trail, not the sign of a path.
“And I’m lost too!” he muttered.
The wind shrieked down from the rocks. The snow swirled furiously about him. The blizzard raged. The roaring of the storm drummed in his ears as he stumbled and floundered about among the rocks and snow.
The Hardy boys were lost, separated, in the storm.
XIX
The Lone Tree
Suddenly, Frank Hardy had an inspiration.
In the shelter of some rocks he cleared away the snow, then began to search about for wood in order to build a fire. If he were lost the best plan was to build a fire which would serve the double purpose of keeping him warm and possibly guiding Joe toward him as well.
He found some small shrubs and stunted trees and managed to break off enough branches to serve as the basis of a fair-sized blaze. He had matches in a waterproof box in his pocket, and after several unsuccessful attempts he finally managed to get a fire going. The wood was damp, but the small twigs caught the blaze and within a few minutes the flames were leaping higher and higher and casting warmth and radiance.
Frank crouched beneath the rocks and warmed himself by the fire. Once in a while he got up and went away to search for more wood to cast on the blaze. Occasionally he peered through the screen of snow in the hope of seeing some sign of Joe. At intervals, he shouted until he was hoarse in the hope of attracting his brother’s attention.
The flames leaped up in the wind and as he piled more wood on the blaze the fire grew brighter. It was in a sheltered spot where the gusts of snow could not quench the flames.
At last he thought he heard a faint shout.
Frank sprang to his feet. He gazed through the shifting veil of snow that swirled about his shelter, but he could see nothing. Then he called out:
“Joe!”
The fire roared. The wind shrieked. Snow slashed against the rocks above him.
Then, out of the inferno of wind and snow he heard the shout again, and a moment later he caught sight of a dim figure plunging toward him. He ran forward.
It was Joe. He was almost exhausted and he was blue with cold. He staggered over toward the blaze and collapsed in a heap beside the fire.
“Thank goodness I saw the flames!” he gasped. “I was almost all in. I couldn’t have gone another step.”
“I thought I’d never find you. I hunted all over.”
“I got lost. I couldn’t find the trail.”
“We’re both lost now. I got off the trail myself when I was looking for you.”
“I don’t much care where we are so long as we’re together again and we have a fire.”
Joe extended his trembling hands to the blaze. In a short while he ceased shivering, and as the warmth pervaded his chilled body his spirits rose.
“That fire was a lucky thought,” remarked Frank. “I was cold and it just occurred to me that you might see a fire through the storm even if you couldn’t see me.”
“I just caught a faint glimpse of it—just like a little pink patch shining through the snow. I was just about to give up and lie down on the rocks when I saw it.”
“You’d have died of exposure.”
For a while the two lads were silent as they thought of how narrowly the blizzard had been cheated of its victim. Then, when Joe had become warmed by the fire, they began to consider their course of action. Frank looked out at the storm.
“The wind seems to be dying down a bit,” he said. “I can see farther down the mountain now than I could a while ago.”
“Think we ought to start home?”
“Do you feel well enough now?”
Joe got to his feet.
“Sure. I feel fine now. There’s no use staying up here until nightfall. This storm
