“Only so we don’t wander back the way we came,” said Hamp; “because Sparwick may have recovered his senses by this time.”
“I know,” replied Brick. “That’s why it wouldn’t be safe to shoot a bird or something for breakfast. I don’t think we’re anywhere near the Rock House, though.”
“The only thing we can do is to push on,” said Hamp. “We may get an outlook from that hill yonder.”
The hill was a quarter of a mile distant, but when the boys reached it they found no guiding clew within sight.
“I more than half believe we’ve been traveling south all the time,” said Brick.
“So do I,” replied Hamp, “and if that’s the case, we’re sure to reach civilization sooner or later.”
The boys struck through the woods. They were so tired that they stopped frequently to rest during the morning. The sled, too, proved to be a burden; but they held on to it.
Finally they reached a plateau, obstructed with heavy timber, scrub and rocks. Pushing across it, they emerged into a glare of light on the brow of a mountain side.
As far as the boys could see, was a rolling, wintry landscape of woods and hills. At a possible distance of eight or ten miles several wreaths of brownish smoke were stamped faintly against the horizon.
“Look,” exclaimed Hamp. “That must be Kingman or Wytopitlock. I’m sure of it. We’re on the right track, old fellow.”