The trail by this time had played out. Mr. Livingston had long abandoned the map as useless and trusted to his compass. He and Pedro hacked a path ahead, finding the going harder by the hour.
That night the Scouts spent bitterly cold hours on the mountainside, unprotected from the icy wind. All about were jagged peaks, hemming them in.
Even the shadows seemed oppressive, and the Explorers shivered despite their warm clothing. There was little conversation as they gathered about the fire to eat the hot food Ken and Willie had prepared.
“The mountains give you a closed in feeling,” Jack presently remarked. “A sort of consciousness that the Gods are watching. Or does it hit anyone else that way?”
“I’ve had the same sensation all day,” Ken returned. “For that matter, I have a hunch we have been watched.”
“By Indians?”
Ken shrugged as be stirred the fire. “Probably.”
“Hap doesn’t seem to think they’ll cause trouble.”
“I’m not so sure he believes that,” Ken answered soberly. “He’s kept his revolver handy all day. But he knows we can’t turn tail without abandoning the mission.”
“You know, I got a feeling we may be close to our goal,” Jack went on after a long moment of silence. “These mountains are a lot like those described in the manuscript.”