"It's all in the viewpoint" said the Doctor, and laughed again.
They had recovered their spirits by now, the Very Young Man especially seeming imbued with the enthusiasm of adventure.
The path became constantly rougher as they advanced.
The ground underfoot—a shaggy, yellow, metallic ore—was strewn now with pebbles. These pebbles grew larger farther on, becoming huge rocks and bowlders that greatly impeded their progress.
They soon found it difficult to follow the brink of the precipice. The path had broadened now so that its other edge was out of sight, for they could see only a short distance amid the bowlders that everywhere tumbled about, and after a time they found themselves wandering along, lost in the barren waste.
"How far is the scratch, do you suppose?" the Very Young Man wanted to know.
They stopped and consulted a moment; then the Very Young Man clambered up to the top of a rock. "There's a range of hills over there pretty close," he called down to them. "That must be the way."
They had just started again in the direction of the hills when, almost without warning, and with a great whistle and roar, a gale of wind swept down upon them. They stood still and looked at each other with startled faces, bracing with their feet against its pressure.
"Oh, golly, what's this?" cried the Very Young Man, and sat down suddenly upon the ground to keep from being blown forward.
The wind increased rapidly in violence until, in a moment, all three of the men were crouching upon the ground for shelter.