"Oh! no hurry," he was told; "and you seemed to be getting forty winks after such a tough night. But now that you've waked up, let's crawl out of here."
Neither of them felt any sorrow at leaving their hard beds, though that did not mean they could ever be anything but grateful for the welcome shelter of that nook under the rocky shelf.
Frank had no hesitancy about pointing toward the quarter where he believed the camp must lie.
"We'll take our bearings, Will, and then head straight. In the course of two hours at the most we ought to strike the lake, and close to Cabin Point in the bargain."
"Before we leave here," remarked Will, the old instinct still gripping him, "I'd like to get a snapshot of that bully ledge, now that the sun is peeping up, and shines full on the place."
"A good idea," Frank told him; "we'll often smile when we look at it, and remember our rough experience. I think every time I happen to munch a bit of jerked or dried beef my thoughts will go back to this adventure."
"Yes," added the other, with a chuckle, "and with me, every time anybody mentions dried beef you'll see me begin to rub my poor bones where they ache right now as if my joints were so many boils."
They had not gone far before they began to notice many signs that told of the fury of the wind during the storm. Trees had been toppled completely over or else lay up against some neighboring trunk in a helpless condition, "much like drunken men," Will declared.
Will discovered a number of remarkable sights that appealed to his artistic instinct, so that Frank had to wait until he had focussed his camera and then pressed the button. Those pictures would always remind them of their lively experiences when on the way back to camp after the second visit to Aaron Dennison's place.
When about an hour had passed Will began to show signs of fresh anxiety, but he was confidently assured by his chum that everything was all right.