"The worst of it is, it will be growing dark before long," put in Tom. "What are we going to do then? I thought we'd catch up to that auto long before this."
They talked the matter over, but could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.
"I'm almost sorry we came down," said Dick. "We might have gotten through—although the wind is worse than it was."
"No, we couldn't do anything in this wind,—we'd simply wreck the Dartaway," said Sam. "But come on, let's go as far as we can. We can come back for the biplane any time."
While under such a strain of mind, the boys could not remain quiet, and so they set off through the woods in the direction of the road. It was hard walking, and several times they had to literally force their way through the brushwood. Then they came to a swamp and had to make a detour, for fear of getting stuck in the mud. When they at last reached the road they were well-nigh exhausted.
"I'll have to rest just a minute!" panted Sam. "Say, that was something fierce, wasn't it?" And he sank on a rock.
"Listen! I think I hear somebody coming!" cried Dick.
All strained their ears, and presently made out the sounds of a farm wagon moving slowly over the rocky roadway that was hidden by the trees. Then the turnout came into view, loaded with freshly-cut cord wood, and drawn by a pair of bony, white horses. On the seat of the wagon sat an aged colored man, talking volubly to his team.
"Hello there, uncle!" cried Dick, as the wagon came closer. "Stop a minute, I want to talk to you."
"What you-all wants?" demanded the colored man nervously, for the spot was a particularly lonely one.