"Looks like another climb and good-night!" Jack complained. "And Ned wanted this sent to-night. That's a right smart climb ahead of us," he added.
Jimmie coaxed Uncle Ike back to four feet again and patted him on the head before making any reply. Then he pointed to the south.
"Over there," he said, "is the Virginia line. The ridge ahead of us does no cross that. I know because I looked up this section once when Ned and I were thinking of running away for a rest."
"You always need a rest!" grinned Jack. "Why don't you make Uncle Ike stand still, like Dill Pickles, this old mountain ship of mine does?" he added.
"Why do you call him Dill Pickles?" asked Jimmie. "He looks more like a razor-back with sails set in front."
"He's Dill Pickles because he's got a good disposition gone sour,"
Jack explained. "He's just about shaken the life out of me now.
Doesn't look it, does he?"
"Better call him Bones!" Jimmie advised. "As I was saying," he went on, "the ridge ahead of us drops down this side of the Virginia line, and we can dodge a climb by going around it."
"And get lost!" Jack grumbled.
"Lost—not. We follow down this valley—or up this valley, rather—until the ridge drops down. Then we go straight east until we come to the South Branch. And there you are."
"Here we go, then!" Jack shouted. "Set your sails and come along."