"Getting tuckered," answered Roy. "How much farther?"
"Not quite—three miles. Ouch! Stepped on—fool stone!"
"Better save your wind, you two," advised Jack.
"Wish I had some to save," thought Roy.
Then there occurred the first division in the ranks. Pryor left the road and scrambled over into a field. Jack, Chub and Roy followed, but Townsend kept to the road and others as they came up followed him.
"What's the matter—with the road?" asked Roy.
"Longer," Chub answered briefly.
They jogged up a steep hill, turning to the right at the top and then went down at a brisker pace, Roy wishing his sweater wasn't quite so heavy. All the spring had gone from his feet now and the exhilaration was forgotten. It was just hard work. The downward slope lasted for quite a way and Roy judged that Pryor was letting himself out in the hope of reaching the road again before the others who had kept to it arrived. There was a bad bit of brush to struggle through, and then came the wall and the road. As they climbed over they looked backward, but only a farmer's wagon was in sight.
"Beat 'em!" gasped Chub.
On the road they slowed down considerably and Roy gave silent thanks. He knew now that he would never be able to keep up with Chub and the others, but he was determined to stick it out as long as he could. Presently a little group of buildings came into sight ahead; a store, a blacksmith shop, a tumble-down shed and three houses. Mr. Buckman was awaiting them in front of the store, supported by the storekeeper and a handful of loungers.