"Can't waste time here," said Tim.
At first, when they paused again, there was silence. Then came that which told them of pursuit. Don's pulse quickened.
"They've got our trail, Tim."
"They're following our blazes," said Tim. "We'll fool them. Let's strike off here to the east."
They swung off at a right angle. The blazed trail they knew, but necessity counseled that they face the unknown. Tim pulled out his compass.
When next they listened the sounds of pursuit were gone.
"We've shaken them," said Don, and drew a long breath of relief.
An hour later they came to a slight ravine with a brook flowing along the bottom. They squatted on the bank and opened their beans, but beans and pilot biscuit made dry eating, and soon the canteens were empty.
"I'll fill them," said Don, and scrambled down the bank. A stone slipped under his foot; he fell, cried out sharply, and rolled to the bottom.
When Tim reached him he was sitting up and unlacing one shoe. It did not take them long to know the truth. The ankle was sprained.