Captain Dawson once more struck a match and looked at his watch.
“Half-past three; in two hours it will begin to grow 196 light; if no accident happens we shall be at the end of the ugly piece of ground by that time, where the traveling is good. It is a pity to lose the opportunity, but I will leave it to you, parson and Ruggles; what do you say?”
“Our horses have been pushed pretty hard, but they are in good condition. I hate to remain idle.”
“Then you favor going ahead?”
“I do.”
“And you, Ruggles?”
“I feel the same way.”
“That settles it; lead on, Vose.”
“I’m just as well suited, but keep your wits about you,” was the warning of the leader, whose mule instantly responded, stretching his neck forward and downward and occasionally snuffing the ground, as if he depended on his sense of smell more than that of hearing.
The task was a nerve-wrenching one, and more than once each of the three regretted their haste in not waiting for daylight; but, having started, there was no turning back. To attempt to wheel about, in order to retrace their steps, was more perilous than to push on, while to stand still was hardly less dangerous.