“This ought to be the last valley,” Dick said, “and after one more climb we ought to go straight down into Castleton. Don’t you remember in that valley there were a lot of sheep in a fold, with a wall round it? If we can find that, we shall know that we are right. It is near the bottom, so we shall not miss it. Which way shall we turn, left or right?”
“Let us try the left first,” Tom said.
They walked for half a mile, gradually ascending.
“It is not this way,” Tom said at last. “We are getting to the head of the valley. What are you doing, James?” as the young boy, who had been sobbing for some time, threw himself on the snow.
“I cannot go any farther,” he murmured. “I am so cold, and so tired, and so sleepy.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Dick said. “Here, take hold of his arm, Tom, and lift him up; give him a good shake; he must go on; he would die if he stopped here.”
The two lads raised the younger boy, and half-supporting half-dragging him turned and retraced their footsteps.
It was pitch dark now, and they could not see a yard before them. For some time they continued their way.
“There is no shepherd’s hut. Certainly, this is not the valley. What on earth are we to do?”
“I don’t know,” Tom said, beginning to cry.