Completely disheartened, everyone sat down on the rocky ledge to discuss the situation.
Night was fast coming on. A descent along the narrow trail would at best be a risky undertaking, but to remain where they were was out of the question.
“There’s no possibility of going on?” Mr. Livingston asked the rancher. “None whatsoever?”
Warner shook his head. “The ledge above us plays out entirely, and the one beyond can’t be reached. We’re in a pocket.”
“Then we’ll have to accept the situation,” the Scout leader said, getting wearily to his feet. “Let’s go.”
Nearing exhaustion as they were, it seemed to Ken and Jack that they could not trudge another mile. But they forced themselves to follow Warner. Knowing that their safety depended upon reaching the wider ledges before darkness completely enveloped the mountain, he took them at a brutal pace.
The Scouts were discouraged, footsore, and desperately hungry. Their only sustenance since noon had been a small piece of chocolate which had provided a little quick energy.
In less than an hour, darkness closed in. To add to their troubles, it began to rain. The fall was not hard, but it came steadily. Soon the Scouts were chilled through.
It seemed to Jack and Ken they never could make it. Every step had become an agony. Minds and bodies had become half paralyzed. Yet automatically their feet kept plodding on.
Warner seemed to have an instinct for making his way, even in the dark and rain. His flashlight guided them at the dangerous turns.