“I only hope he’s as badly off as we are,” put in Ned, with a shiver. “But say, fellows,” he went on, in a few minutes, “don’t you think it’s slacking up some?”
They all listened. There was no doubt about it, the rain was less in violence, but the wind was rising.
“Maybe it’s going to clear,” suggested Fenn.
“If it does, it’ll be colder,” was Bart’s opinion. It did clear, shortly after that, and there was a decided drop in temperature. Through the boughs of their shelter the boys could see the stars coming out. Miserable, and feeling chilled to the bone, the chums crowded close together.
It soon grew so cold that they had to come out of their shelter to move about and get their blood in circulation. But this served a good purpose, for it gave them something to do. At last a faint streak of light appeared in the east—the herald of the rising sun—and, a little later, the red rim of Old Sol appeared. Never was the big luminary more welcome.
“Now for a fire!” cried Ned, “that is, if we can find any dry wood.” They did manage to pick up a few sticks from inside a hollow log where they had placed them the night before, in anticipation of some emergency, and soon they were warming themselves in front of the flames. But there was nothing to eat, and no coffee left, though Bart did manage to make a potful of what passed for it out of the grounds of what they had used the night before.
“Well, let’s start for camp,” proposed Frank, when they had drunk the hot, if not palatable beverage. “Think you can find the way, Bart?”
“I guess so—I’ll try, anyhow.”
They started off, getting the direction as best they could by the sun, and for an hour tramped forward, feeling, on the whole, rather miserable, but hoping to soon be in camp.
Several hours passed, and they seemed to be no nearer the place where their tents were. Bart’s face wore a puzzled look. He stared around at the trees, as if they would help him solve the problem. Then he said: