“How are you feel—” he started to ask but before he could finish a big lump rose in his throat, and, bending over his brother, the boy burst into tears.
“Why, what’s the matter, old fellow?” Bob asked as he pulled one arm out of the bag and threw it about his brother’s neck.
“I-I-thought you were d-d-drowned,” the boy sobbed.
“So did I, for a second,” Bob said soberly. “You see, although the water is only about three feet deep there, when I broke through, I struck a slippery stone and my feet went out from under me and I thought I’d never get them under me again. But, thank God, I’m all right now and as snug as a bug in a rug.”
Jack soon dried his tears and set about arranging camp for the night, for they knew that, by the time Bob’s clothes were dry, it would be too late to go any farther that day.
“We’ve made pretty good time at that,” Bob declared. “Thirty-five or forty miles of this kind of going is a good day’s tramp.”
It was after four o’clock by the time Jack had things all shipshape for the night, and, soon after, he started to get supper. It was not so cold as the night before although, as night came on, it was well below freezing. The heat from the fire had prevented Bob’s clothes from freezing and by the time the boys were ready to retire for the night, they were fully dried.
Fortunately Bob suffered no ill effects from his bath, and, as soon as it was light the next morning, they were again on the trail.
“Let me know when you are tired,” Bob said as they started off. “I’m going to hit a pretty stiff clip and I think we ought to pretty nearly get there before the snow gets soft enough for the shoes. It can’t be more than twenty miles at the most.”
In a little over an hour they reached the upper end of Churchill Lake and began the ascent of a range of lofty hills. A good part of the way it was steep and the slippery crust made their footing insecure.