In a gash in the hills they came to a halt, built a fire against a rocky wall as a protection, and all but Tim Lovell turned in.
And each sentinel, in his turn, heard enough to make him keep his senses keenly alert. Several times the sound of skurrying feet rose with unpleasant distinctness, causing the lonely sentinel to picture in his mind the gray forms skulking close by.
In the early morning Bob made a drawing of the map, and, as all had studied it carefully, no detail was forgotten. Immediately after breakfast they were off, following a deep gully.
It did not end in a pocket, as Jack Conroy gloomily predicted, but opened out, forming an amphitheatre between wild, barren hills. Keeping to the north as closely as the configuration of the land would allow, the party struggled on, now in the midst of boulders, then halted by the undergrowth in some woods so dense that the sunlight scarcely filtered in.
But as each mile seemed to fall slowly and grudgingly behind them, they could see from points of vantage a great bluish mass rising higher, its outlines cutting more sharply against the sky. A towering summit of a peculiar blunt shape proved beyond doubt that this was their goal.
At the top of a high ridge they gazed with fascinated attention toward the mountain, their pulses quickened with excitement.
Perpetual snow, above pine forests, shone with dazzling luster; a succession of wild-looking crags extended off to the right and left until the furthest peaks were but faint grayish patches.
"Mount Wanatoma!" said Bob, in solemn tones.
"Mount Wanatoma!" echoed the others.
"Christopher! Let's hurry!" cried Dick, nervously. "See any signs of those lumberjacks, fellows?"