“I say nothing of how you look,” remarked Malcolm pleasantly. “Where’s that other piece of sacking? And where’s the string got to?”
“Blown away, probably,” said Evan. “Why not put all the things into one bundle and take turns carrying it? It won’t be very heavy, anyhow.”
So that was done and presently they were scrambling down over the edge of Table Rock to the boulder-littered slope below. The fog hid objects forty feet away and presently Rob gave voice to a thought which had occurred to all of them.
“I guess we’ll have to trust to luck to find the path,” he said. “But we’re bound to come to it if we keep on going down hill.”
“We’ll find the bottom, all right,” answered Malcolm, “although we may not arrive just where we want to.”
“I don’t see how we can fail to find the path,” said Evan. “And when we come to it all we have to do is to follow it down.”
“There’s the edge of the trees,” remarked Rob. “Isn’t that spring right here somewhere, Mal?”
“Further down and a bit to the left. Want some water?”
“Yes, I’m as dry as the dickens. Let’s have a look for it.”