The queer-looking old teamster was busily unfastening several small packages from the broad "buckboard" of his rude wagon, but he looked gruffly up to say, "'Baout a mile 'n' a half."
"It's all of that, Sid, but it's of no use to grumble. We've got to foot it the rest of the way. It's a plain enough path."
"Foot it! And lug all that?"
"Guess you'll be glad there ain't any more of it afore ye git thar."
Mr. Jones was right, for they were both of them glad already, considering how warm a day it was.
Neither of the boys was much over sixteen, but Wade Norton looked the older of the two, although his companion was fully as tall and strong. Standing together, they made a good "specimen pair" of vigorous, bright-eyed, self-reliant youngsters.
In three minutes more Mr. Jones and his pony and his buckboard were out of sight among the trees, and Sid and Wade were left to their own resources.
It was seven miles due south, and a good deal longer by the road, to the nearest clearing, and all to the north of them was wilderness—woods, lakes, and mountains.
"Now, Wade, how'll we divide the load? There's a heap of it."
"Guess we won't divide it. I'll show you—here's the hatchet."