“Of pea soup,” supplemented Conover. “It’s thick enough to cut. An’ ten minutes ago the sky was perfec’ly clear. Best get back to the camp, before the measly stuff makes us lose our way. Then we would be in a sweet fix.”
Backward they turned upon their tracks. Already the guiding tree vistas were wiped out. The two walked rapidly, pushing along with no better guide than their sense of general direction. For a full half hour they walked; Caleb helping Desirée over a series of fallen trees, gullies and boulders that neither had noted during their outward journey.
Then, out of breath, Desirée halted.
“We’re not going the right way!” she exclaimed. “We’re going up-hill. I know we are. I can tell by the feeling. And the camp lies down by the pond.”
They struck off at another angle. After ten minutes of fast, difficult walking, through the water-thick mist, Desirée came again to a halt.
“This rock,” she declared, “is the very one I leaned against when we stopped before. I’m certain. We’ve been going in a circle.”
“Maybe we were going right, in the first place,” said Caleb. “On the way out we went up hills an’ down ’em, too. Maybe if we’d kep’ on going upward we’d a come out on the hill above the camp.”
They started once more; going purposely upward this time; groping their way through the blinding mist without speaking.
Of a sudden the fog was gone from before them. A step or two farther and they stood on a hilltop, under the stars.
Desirée sank wearied on the stump of a twin tree, her back against the trunk of the unfelled half. Caleb glanced about to locate the camp. His exclamation of wonder brought the tired girl to her feet.