It took one breathless, arduous hour to cover a mile, and their clothes and hands were scratched and torn with thorns and brambles.
"It's a little better beyond the creek," said Van. "A man could hide in a wilderness like this a good many years in a safe way, eh, Fairbanks?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Ralph, and mentally wondered if his companion was alluding to the mysterious Farwell Gibson.
They were a wearied and travel-worn pair as they lay down to rest at the first token of daybreak. It was at the edge of a level expansive sweep surmounted by a dense growth of trees.
"We're nearly there," proclaimed Van.
"How near?" interrogated Ralph.
"You see that hill?"
"Yes."
"That's our last climb."
"I'm thankful," said Ralph.