The light was gone. Of course that might not mean it had vanished entirely; but at least it could no longer be seen by the boys who were climbing upward.
Bob was hoping his comrade would propose that they call it off, and proceed to spend the balance of the night in the first comfortable nook they ran across. But Frank himself was loath to give the first sign of a backdown. Consequently they continued the laborious task which was likely to bring no reward in its train, only the satisfaction of knowing they had accomplished the duty which they had in mind at the time of the start.
An hour must surely have gone since they first left the little green glade where the horses were staked out, and their supplies cached.
Bob found himself blown, and trembling all over with fatigue, because of the unusual exertion. The heat, too, was troublesome. But not for worlds would he be the first to complain. Frank was setting the pace, and he must be the one to call a halt.
"Phew! this is rough sledding," remarked Frank, finally, as he stopped to wipe his streaming face.
Of course Bob also came to a halt.
"Well, it is for a fact," he admitted with a little dry chuckle; for he felt really pleased to think that he had held out so long, and forced Frank to "show his hand."
"Seems to me we ought to have struck something," suggested Frank.
"Do you really mean you think we've come far enough for that?" questioned Bob.
"I reckon we have, though it's so dark I can't be dead sure. You don't happen to glimpse anything queer around here, do you, Bob?" and while speaking Frank, perhaps unconsciously, lowered his voice more or less.