“Thanks, old man, for the find! You’re a better scout than I am any day!”
In answer the bird trilled again and then flew—up, up into the sunshine and away.
Westy watched him enviously.
“Still,” he mused, “I guess after all it’s a case of Even Stephen. God gave me hands and feet and you—your wings!”
CHAPTER XXXI—THE TRAIL ONCE AGAIN
Westy made up his mind he’d get out of that forest before another night imprisoned them. With the help of the sun they could go directly east, then northeast. They’d be bound to strike the trail some time.
But there was Rip! Getting worse and worse all the time. How he would manage it he didn’t know; hadn’t any idea, except that his mind had been made up to find a way!
It was discouraging and unbearably tedious trying to help the sick boy walk through the thorny underbrush, unhindered in its growth throughout the summers of many long centuries. Not only that, but he had to keep constantly on the alert for snakes, for they had had many narrow escapes from them so far.
Much time was lost in stopping to rest, but it had to be done in order to go on again. He didn’t dare overtax Rip any more than could be avoided and his own strength was being tried to the very limits of endurance.
There were odd moments when Rip was partly rational and at such times Westy would reason it out with him that he was trying to get him back to his Uncle and for him to do his part and keep up until they got there. In his half-dazed condition he seemed to understand, and when they started on again it was incredible to Westy almost to see his indomitable will overrule his physical weakness.