The moon rose early, a big silver disk shining among the trees, when the autoists started on their night journey.
“This is great!” exclaimed Bob, who seemed to have forgotten his desire for a bed under shelter. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a lot of Indians chase us now?”
“It might if they were tame ones,” put in Jerry, who was steering, “but excuse me from any wild ones.”
The road soon began a gentle ascent, and the auto ran more slowly up the hill. The road, too, became narrower, winding in and out. The trees, which had been scattering, were thicker, and the travelers could see they were getting well up among the mountains.
“How late are you going to travel?” asked Bob of Jerry.
“Until nearly midnight,” was the answer. “The moon begins to go down then and it will not be very safe. But I think we ought to cover as big a distance as possible while we can. We have had delays enough.”
The only noise, besides the puffing of the machine, were the cries of owls, the chirping of crickets and katy-dids, with, now and then, the howl of a wolf or fox. In spite of the number in the party, there was a feeling of loneliness about being so far from civilization among the wilds of the mountain region.
Up and up went the car, until the ascent became so steep that Jerry was obliged to run on the low gear. This made progress slow, and, because of the uneven road, so risky, that it seemed unwise to proceed further that night.
“I’ll slow up when we get to the top of this hill,” said Jerry, “and we’ll go into camp.”