Part 31 (1/2)
”So they say--although I never see none.”
”It's pretty cold for snakes,” remarked d.i.c.k. ”They only come out in the summer time.”
”I wish we were on horseback,” said Sam, with a sigh.
”Hosses would be fine, if we could feed 'em,” answered Jack Wumble.
”But ye can't do thet when the ground is covered with snow.”
”The outfits are so heavy, Jack.”
”True, my boy, but thet can't be helped. We'll be lucky if our grub holds out.”
It was after four o'clock when they reached the top of the hill. Had it been clear they might have seen for many miles around them, but now the dullness in the sky hid what was in the distance from view.
”Lion Head is over thar,” said Jack Wumble, pointing with his hand.
”An' Twin Rocks can't be far off.”
”And how far is Lion Head from here?” questioned Sam.
”Betwixt twenty an' thirty miles, Sam.”
”Then maybe we'll reach there by to-morrow night.”
”Let us hope so, lad. O' course you must remember we've got the wust part o' this journey to go.”
”Perhaps we'll catch Tom before we get to Lion Head,” suggested d.i.c.k.
”Not by the way he has been traveling,” answered his brother. ”It does beat the nation how he and that Furner have been able to get over the ground.”
On the top of the hill the wind was blowing a regular gale and the boys and the old miner were glad enough to go down on the other side, where they would be somewhat sheltered. But even below it was cold, and the air seemed to strike to their very backbones.
”Winter is comin' all right enough,” announced Jack Wumble. ”We'll be lucky if we git out o' here afore it catches us.”
They trudged along until all were too weary to walk another step. They were keeping their eyes open for a spot where they might camp for the night, when d.i.c.k uttered a cry.
”Look! They must have remained here last night!”
The others gazed to where he pointed and saw, in a shelter of the rocks, the remains of a campfire. Beside the ashes lay a part of a broken strap and also some fine shavings from a stick.
”Ike Furner's mark,” remarked Wumble, pointing to the shavings. They had been told by several men that one of Furner's habits was to whittle a stick. He never rested and talked but what he got out his jackknife and started to cut on a bit of wood. At another campfire, two days back, they had come across a heap of just such whittlings.
”How new is that campfire?” asked d.i.c.k, of the old miner.
Jack Wumble examined the heap of dead ashes with care.
”I should say not more'n a day--maybe not thet,” he answered. ”Boys, I reckon we're close on 'em.”
”Oh, if only it wasn't so dark and we weren't so tired!” murmured Sam.