Bob traveled entirely by the sun, and tried hard to keep the points of the compass in his mind; but when George began to affirm with vehemence that was not natural to him that the sun had fallen into a habit of rising in the north, he lost faith in himself, and his courage all left him.
For a while, George bore up manfully. He was cheerful and confident, and ready to follow as long as Bob was willing to lead; but when the last morsel of their provisions was gone, and they saw their supply of ammunition growing smaller, and they were obliged to go supperless to bed, in spite of all their efforts to secure some of the mountain sheep that occasionally showed themselves on the cliffs far above their heads, and their boots and clothing began to show unmistakable signs of the rough treatment they were receiving, and the ravines all the while grew darker and gloomier, and the “pockets” became more numerous—then things began to look serious indeed, and George to show the first symptoms of what frontiersmen call “plains insanity”—that is, an uncontrollable desire to “keep moving.”
While Bob insisted on deliberation and the exercise of extreme caution, and used his best endeavors to keep his own thoughts and his companion’s from dwelling upon their almost hopeless condition, George wanted to rush ahead; he didn’t care where he went, so long as he was in motion. He could not bear to sit down for a moment.
These alarming symptoms increased every day, and finally things came to such a pass that Bob could not induce his companion to stop for the night, until he had threatened to tie him hand and foot. It was a necessary precaution, but he neglected it too long. One morning he awoke from a troubled slumber, and started up in his blanket to find that George was missing.
CHAPTER XXXI.
“ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.”
Bob became terribly excited and frightened when he found that his companion was gone, for he knew very well what it meant, and what it was likely to lead to. He did not believe that he could follow his trail and overtake him, and even if he did, it was not at all probable that he would be able to manage the insane runaway.
He was experienced enough to know that being lost, or even “turned around,” in an unknown wilderness, has an effect upon some minds that is simply appalling. In the language of one who has passed through such an ordeal, and who earnestly prays that he may never be called upon to pass through another:
“Everything seems changed and unnatural. The most ordinary events appear to possess an unusual significance. The nerves become unstrung, and the man soon loses control of himself entirely. I have been told of two instances where lost men when found and approached by parties sent in search of them, made off in the greatest terror, escaping by almost superhuman efforts from their friends, to die of starvation in the mountains.”
It was no wonder that Bob became alarmed when he thought of these things, or that it was only by a great effort of will that he kept control of his own mind.
“Poor George is as crazy as a loon,” cried Bob, jumping to his feet, and bundling up both the blankets, preparatory to setting out in pursuit of his friend. “I haven’t any too much sense myself, but I’ll not desert him so long as I have the strength to follow his trail. Here, fellows,” he added, holding out to each of the setters in turn the boots that George had left behind in his hurried flight. “Take a sniff at these, and then hunt him up.”