“The hill is here, though,” returned Bob with a grim smile. “So that’s that.”
The boys paused a moment at the spot where they had jumped from the doomed automobile. With one last look at the washout, they turned and began climbing the grade.
“Five miles is a good distance to walk,” grunted Joe, “especially when we want to get home before long.”
“That last you said made the first all right,” laughed Bob Holton, “because on the Sahara and in Brazil we often hiked, not five miles, but several times that far without stopping.”
The friends were refreshed after the idle weekend trip and worked their legs like pistons. Despite their serious predicament, they observed the wonders of autumn with the eye of a nature lover.
Leaves of yellow and brown were lying about the ground in profusion, while others on the trees were almost ready to fall. There was a cool afternoon breeze that gave evidence of winter being not far off.
“Think there’s a chance of getting a ride with somebody?” asked Joe, as the youths followed the curving road.
Bob shook his head.
“Fellows in this part of the country are pretty careful about picking up strangers,” he returned. “Too many stick-ups and robberies. Still we might see some soft-hearted person who would not be afraid to take a chance with us.”
“The question is, though,” began Joe, “will we get in with somebody before night? It’s three o’clock now, and we may have to do a great deal of thumbing before anybody will stop and let us in.”