The trail was now steep and so narrow that frequently Bob had to
stop and search for the blazing on the trees.
"Of course I know my way, all right," he insisted. "Still, it is
mighty different in winter from what it is at other seasons of the
year, I'll admit that. Remember, I've never climbed this hill when
the snow was on the ground. However, when we once get to the top the
coming down will be a cinch, because we can follow our own tracks."
It was nearly two o'clock before the boys reached the top of the
mountain. Over the landscape hung a mass of heavy gray clouds
beneath which the sun was hidden; the wind was cutting as a knife,
and while Van sought the shelter of an old shack Bob roamed about,
delighting in the familiar scene.
"Why don't you come over here and look at the view?" he called to
his companion. "It is fairly clear in spite of the clouds."
Van shivered.
"Oh, I don't want to. I don't care a hang for the view--I told you
that before. I'm just hungry. Let's get a fire going and cook the
chops. What do you say?"
"You're cold. I said you would be."
"I'm not. I'm starved, though. Where can we get some wood?"
Bob glanced about.
"There seems to be plenty of undergrowth down in that hollow. Take
my knife and cut away some of it. There's a piece of an old stump,
too, that ought to burn well if it isn't too wet."
"That thing would never burn; but the brush will. Sling me the knife
and I'll cut an armful. Let's build it in that little rocky shelter.
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