“I didn’t come within a mile of that cat when I shot last night,” said Bill.
“I probably didn’t, either, when I hurled that compass,” replied Breene.
“A fine woodsman you have turned out to be,” said Bill as he started up the hill. “Wait for me right where you are.”
Once having reached the top of the ridge, Bill found it difficult to find a space sufficiently open to get a good view. He tried one place after another, but could not get a clear view through the trees. Finally he thought that he had the lookout spotted, but was not sure. The mountain upon which it was situated did not look the same from his present position.
“I am not sure that I have it spotted,” said Bill when he returned.
“I know how we can get in touch with them,” said Breene.
“How?”
“Start a forest fire,” explained Breene.
“Yes, and pay a fifty-dollar fine,” said Bill. “Not for mine. Come on, let’s go.”
Once more they started through the tangled underbrush. Bill tried to keep the sun in the same relative position so that he could keep the proper course. He was glad that the smoke pall did not extend over this section of the state. He led Breene over ridges and valleys, streams and gullies, and never deviated from what he thought was the direct line to the lookout.