They trudged on, occasionally urging the lagging dogs. The canines seemed to realize the loneliness of the situation, and occasionally stopped short, squatted down, and rent the air with dismal howlings.
“They don’t see any food and shelter ahead, and I don’t blame them,” said Barwell Dawson.
By nightfall they calculated they had covered twelve miles. If that was true, only ten miles more separated them from their goal.
“And we’ll make that tomorrow or bust!” cried Andy. He was dead-tired, and ached in every limb, but a strange light shone in his eyes—the same fire that lit up the eyes of Barwell Dawson.
In the morning the sky looked more forbidding than ever. But there was only a gentle breeze, and the thermometer registered forty-eight degrees,—several degrees warmer than it had been.
“We’ll travel until noon,” announced Barwell Dawson. “Then we’ll make camp, and wait until we can take an observation.”
They progressed almost in silence, the boys occasionally cracking the whip and urging the dogs. Barwell Dawson and Professor Jeffer were busy with their thoughts. Their fondest hopes seemed about to be realized. The boys thought of home. Would they ever see Maine again?
“Seems like a lifetime since we left Pine Run!” remarked Chet once.
“Two lifetimes,” responded Andy. “One such trip as this is enough for me.”
The lads were footsore and weary to the last degree, but neither complained. They did not want to worry Barwell Dawson, and what would have been the use? He could not aid them. It was now a question of every one for himself.