Carrying the double burden, which privilege cost me another struggle with Wallace, I led back over the ground which we had covered on our way up, my friend lurching drunkenly by my side. Then he fell and lay in a faint, but recovered quickly. After I had got him on his feet again, I kept his arm, supporting him as much as I could. Every few hundred steps or so he half collapsed, his knees doubling under him. When this happened I let him slide to the ground, thus to get some rest.
I do not know how often this had occurred when I noticed something wrong about the road. The clearing on the left, with stumps standing black against white snow patches—surely I could not have twice missed noticing it! The ground, too, fell rather sharply. “Traveling toward the Wesel road!” I thought. “I remember no villages there, if I recollect the map.”
Wallace had been sitting on the ground all this time. I helped him to his feet and urged him on: “We’ve got to be traveling! Up hill now! Awfully sorry, old chap, but I missed the road.”
Three rests, and the old track was under our feet. Three more, and we were drawing near to the little settlement.
“It’ll not be very long now, old man; cheer up!” I said encouragingly.
“Mus’ get into warmth. Knock first house come to. Can’t stick it,” Wallace muttered in reply.
“Try to make that barn, won’t you? It’s close by.”
We came abreast of a house with a light in the passage, which showed dimly through some panes of glass above the front door. The time must have been about 2:30 A.M.
Wallace stopped and peered at it. “Is that a house?”