Then, in turn, she told how she had missed the tripod just as the fog came down and could not get near it again.
"And oh, I have lost my luncheon, too," she exclaimed, "and you must be starving. I must have lost it when I fell."
"Then we'll waste no time in getting home. It's beginning to rain a little now. We'll be pretty miserable if we stay up here any longer."
"But the trail—how will you find it in this awful mist?"
"Well, it should be somewhere to the west, I think, and with the compass, you see——"
He had been feeling in a pocket and now stared at her blankly.
"I am afraid I have lost something, too," he exclaimed, "my compass. I had it a little while ago and put it in the change pocket of my coat to have it handy. I suppose the last time I fell down, it slipped out."
He searched hastily in his other pockets, but to no purpose.
"Never mind," he concluded, cheerfully. "All ways lead down the mountain. If we can't find the trail we can at least go down till we find something. If it's a brook or ravine we'll follow that till we get somewhere. Anything is better than shivering here."
They set out in the direction where it seemed to Frank the trail must lie. Suddenly a tall shape loomed up before them. It was the tripod.