“We haven’t sighted those two twin peaks Old Stony told us about,” Jack said.
“That’s what bothers me,” Warner replied. “In taking his landmarks, maybe he made them on the return trip from Headless Hollow.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Ken, startled. “In that case, everything would be different from the way we’re seeing it.”
“Don’t forget, Old Stony may have drawn his map purposely wrong to throw off anyone who might steal it,” Mr. Livingston reminded them.
“We’ll soon know,” Warner replied.
Settling themselves to a hard, relentless grind of climbing, the Scouts followed their guide with dogged determination. Progress now was painfully slow. An hour was required to make a few hundred feet.
Jack’s back had grown numb from the weight of the pack. His legs felt as if they would buckle beneath him. Mr. Livingston likewise was showing signs of fatigue, and so was Ken. Only their guide seemed utterly tireless. But as the overcast sun began to lower behind the jagged peaks, even Warner began to falter and show signs of strain.
His growing uneasiness began to be felt by the others. In the last few hours, they had caught no glimpse of the mysterious enemy believed to have dislodged the rock. In fact, they had half forgotten the incident. But a greater worry now confronted them.
Night was coming on, and unless the pass soon materialized, they must make camp. However, the narrow ledges provided little more than walking space. At times the grades were fairly gentle, giving the party a little breathing spell. Then again they became so steep it was hard to find good footing.
Warner and Mr. Livingston pushed desperately on, hoping to find the pass before darkness crept upon the lonely mountain. Though they gave no verbal hint of their growing concern, Ken and Jack could tell by the grim way the two men climbed that they were worried.