LOST!
It was all well enough for the automobile driver to tell them go
straight across the field, but it was quite another thing to do it, for
there was a broad and deep stream in the middle of it and no sign of a
bridge anywhere in sight. There was nothing to do but follow the stream
in the general direction of Wharton until they could reach the trolley
line. That brook wound in a most exasperating manner, finally heading
back toward where they supposed the dirt road to be. Amy stopped and
viewed it disgustedly.
"I'm going to wade it," he declared.
But Clint persuaded him against that plan, pointing out that he would be
extremely uncomfortable riding on the trolley car with his clothes
soaking wet. Amy grumblingly agreed to give the stream another chance to
behave itself. By that time they had been walking fully fifteen minutes
and the scene of the accident was lost to sight and as yet there was no
trace of the trolley line. Clint looked at his watch.
"I reckon," he said, "we wouldn't get that car even if we were on the
other side now. The best thing for us to do is hit the road again and
beat it for Wharton on foot."
Amy agreed and they turned their backs on the stubborn brook and set off
across a meadow which presently gave place to a hill-side field
overgrown with bushes and weeds and prickly vines which clung to their
trousers and snarled around their feet. Clint said they were wild
raspberry and blackberry vines and Amy replied that he didn't care what
sort of vines they were; they were a blooming nuisance. To avoid them,
they struck westward again toward a stone wall, climbed it and found
themselves in a patch of woods. They kept along the stone wall, dodging
in and out through the trees, and ascending a hill. Presently it dawned
on Clint that the stone wall, like the brook, was having fun with them.
For, instead of running straight, as one would expect any decent stone
wall to run, it was bending all the time to the west. Clint knew it was
the west because the sun was disappearing there; perhaps _had_
disappeared by now. He acquainted Amy with the discovery and they
crawled across the wall again and found themselves in a worse tangle of
briers than before. But they were desperate now. It was well after five
and the shadows were getting long and black. They were both secretly
rather glad to be out of the woods, although progress through the briers
was far from enjoyable.
Finally Amy, pausing to wrest himself from the frantic clutches of a
blackberry vine, raised his head and viewed Clint solemnly.
"Clint," he announced, "I've got something to tell you."
"Fire away."
"We're lost."
"I knew that ten minutes ago," was the reply.
"Then why didn't you tell a fellow? When I'm lost I like to know it.
It's the--the uncertainty that worries me. Now that I know I shall never
see school and Josh again I feel better." Amy looked about him
appraisingly. "Have you noticed any berries or nuts, Clint? I suppose
we'll have to live on them for a few days."
"You're the only nut I've seen so far," laughed Clint. "Come on and
let's get out of here. If I've got to be lost I'd rather be lost where
there aren't so many stickers."
"Yes," agreed Amy, "I suppose we must do the usual thing. We must walk
until we drop. Then we cover ourselves with leaves, pillow our heads on
a rock and sleep the sleep of exhaustion."
"What was that?" asked Clint.
"What was what? Don't tell me you heard a bear!"
"I guess it was the trolley car. Only it seemed to come from over that
way, and that fellow said the trolley line was over there."
"I don't believe that fellow very well," responded Amy pessimistically.
"He said he'd get us to Wharton, and he didn't. He said his old car
would go, and it didn't. He said we could cross that field, and it
didn't--I mean we couldn't. Anyway, I propose we find the road again and
sit down and wait until someone comes along and gives us a lift."
"That's all very well, but which way _is_ the road?"
Amy considered. "Search me," he said finally. "Let's play it's over
there, though. After all, it doesn't matter which way you walk when
you're lost. You always walk in circles. We'll be back here in a while,
Clint. Why not make believe we've walked and are back again?"
"Don't be an idiot," said Clint. "Come on. It'll be dark first thing we
know and then we _will_ be in a fix!"
"And I'm getting most awfully hungry," murmured Amy. "I shall search for
berries as we toil weariedly onward."
When they at last left the pasture behind them they found themselves in
another wood. Clint leaned hopelessly against a tree and shook his head.
"This has ceased to be a joke, Amy. We're just about lost as anything."
"Right-o!" Then he added cheerfully: "But we didn't walk in a circle,
Clint. That's something. And that road must be somewhere around here.
When you think of it it's mighty funny. There we were with a perfectly
good road on one side of us and a trolley line on the other. We haven't
crossed either of them. Now where the dickens are they?"
"The way I figure it," replied Clint thoughtfully, "is that the trolley
was a lot farther off than he said it was and that the road turned to
the left again after we got off it. One thing is certain, and that is
that if we haven't crossed it it must be in front of us somewhere, and
the only thing to do is keep on going."
"Until we drop," agreed Amy. "I shall begin and look for a nice
comfortable place to drop. Say, we won't get a thing but hard looks
when we get back--if ever we do."
"We'll be lucky if we get off with hard looks, I reckon," said Clint
gloomily.
They went on through the woods. They were tired now and it was quite
dark under the trees and they made slow progress. Once Clint tripped
over a fallen branch and measured his length and once Amy ran head-on
into a sapling and declared irately, as he rubbed his nose, that he
would come back the next day with an axe and settle matters. At last,
after a silence of many minutes: "We're doing it, I'll bet you
anything," said Amy.
"Doing what?" asked Clint from the twilight.
"Walking in a circle. We must be. We've been in this place for twenty
minutes, at least, and we haven't found a way out yet. Which way is it
you go when you walk in a circle? To the left, isn't it?"
"Right, I think," answered Clint doubtfully.
"No, I'm pretty sure it's the left. Tell you what we'll do, we'll take
shorter steps with our right legs, Clint"
They tried it, but nothing resulted. It was pitch-black now and, since
the sun was gone, getting chillier every minute. Clint wished he had put
on a vest, or, rather, waistcoat. He was about ready to give up when a
patch of grey showed ahead and they made toward it to find themselves at
the edge of the wood on a little hill. Below them spread uncertainly a
bare field. Overhead a few stars shone. If the road was near it was too
dark to see it. They sat down on the ground to rest. For several minutes
neither spoke. Then Clint heard a chuckle from Amy.
"Glad you find it so funny," he grumbled resentfully.
"I was just thinking of something," gurgled Amy. "This is Saturday, you
know, and we always have cold lamb for supper on Saturdays. I hate
cold lamb."
"I don't see where the joke comes in," grumbled Clint.
"Why, I don't have to eat the lamb, do I? Isn't that funny?"
"No, it isn't. I could eat cold--cold--cold dog! Come on. We might as
well walk as sit here and freeze to death."
"I've read," said Amy, "that freezing was a pleasant death, but it
doesn't seem so. Maybe, though, it's painful just at first." He arose
with a groan and followed Clint down the slope. There were more briers,
and now and then they stumbled over outcropping rocks. The field seemed
interminable, but after awhile Clint bumped into a wall. They climbed
over it and started on again.
"If there was only a moon," said Clint, "it would help some. You can't
see a blessed thing."
"If there was a moon it wouldn't get through the clouds. It feels to me
as if it might rain."
"You certainly have cheerful thoughts," Clint grumbled. "I wonder if it
would do any good if we yelled."
"We might try it. Suppose we give the Brimfield cheer, Clint."
"Oh, shut up! You make me tired, Amy. Come on, now. Yell as loud as you
can. All ready?"
"Hold on I What am I to yell?"
"Yell 'Help!' you idiot!"
"Oh, all right." They raised their voices together in a loud appealing
shout. Then they listened. Not a sound answered them.
"Once more," said Clint. Again they shouted and again they listened.
Deep silence, broken only by the chirping of crickets.
"No good, I guess," said Clint despondently.
"Nobody home," murmured Amy. "Now what? I'll tell you frankly, as man to
man, that I can't go on walking all night, Clint. I'm dog-tired and my
left leg's got a cramp in it and I'm weak with hunger. Let's find a
cosy corner somewhere and go to sleep."
"I reckon we'll have to. I'm about all in, too. We'd better find a place
where there's more shelter than there is here, though. Gee, but we are
certainly a fine pair of idiots!"
"We are indeed!" assented Amy with enthusiasm. "I suppose that the time
will come, perhaps twenty or thirty years from now, when we'll be able
to look back on this night's jolly adventures and appreciate all the fun
we're having, but just now--" Amy's voice trailed off into silence.
"Jolly adventures!" grunted Clint. "Don't talk rot!"
Five minutes later they stopped. That is, Clint stopped and Amy ran into
him with a grunt.
"I suppose you haven't got a match, have you?" asked Clint.
"Right-o! You're a fine little supposer," chattered Amy.
"There's something here and I want to see what it is," said Clint. As he
spoke he moved forward a step or two and felt around in the darkness.
"It feels like a fence," he muttered, "a board fence. No, it isn't, it's
a house! Here's a window."
"A hole, I'd call it," said Amy. "Let's find the door."
They moved to the right, following the building, and promptly collided
with a tree. They had to go around that, since there was no room to
squeeze past it. Then the hut, for it was evidently no more, presented a
doorway, with a door half-open on broken hinges. They hesitated
a moment.
"Wonder what's inside," said Clint in a low voice.
"Spooks," suggested Amy, none too bravely.
"Shut up! Would you go in?"
"Sure, I would. Come on."
Very cautiously they edged past the crazy door, their hands stretched
warily ahead. There was a sudden scurrying sound from the darkness and
they jumped back and held their breaths.
"P-probably a rat," whispered Amy.
"Or a squirrel," said Clint. They listened. All was silent again. A damp
and musty odour pervaded the place. Under their feet the floor boards
had rotted and as they made a cautious circuit of the interior they trod
as often on soil as on wood. The hut was apparently empty of everything
save a section of rusted stovepipe, dangling from a hole in the roof,
some damp rags and paper in a corner and a broken box. Clint discovered
the box by falling over it with a noise that sent Amy a foot off the
ground. When all was said the advantages presented by the hut were few.
It did protect them from the little chill breeze that stirred and it put
a roof over their heads, although, as Clint said, if it rained before
morning they'd probably find the roof of little account. On the other
hand, it was damper than the outdoors and the mustiness was far from
fragrant. They decided, however, to take up their quarters there until
morning. Looking for the road was evidently quite useless, and, anyway,
they were much too tired to tramp any longer. They found a place away
from door and window where some of the floor-boards still survived and
sank down with their backs to the wall. Amy heaved a great sigh
of relief.
"Gee," he muttered, "this is fine!"
"Pull the blanket up," murmured Clint with a pathetic effort at humour.
Amy chuckled weakly.
"I can't reach it," he said. "Guess it's on the floor. Anyway, the night
air is very beneficial."
"Could you eat anything if you had it, Amy?"
"Shut up, for the love of Mike! I could eat a kitchen range. Clint, did
I cast any aspersions awhile ago on cold lamb?"
"Uh-huh," said the other faintly.
"I was afraid so. I wish I hadn't now. A great, big platter of cold lamb
would--would--Oh, say, I could love it to death! Gee, but I'm tired! And
sleepy, too. Aren't you?"
Clint's response was a long, contented snore. Amy grunted. "I see you're
not," he murmured. "Well--" He pushed himself a little closer to Clint
for warmth and closed his eyes.
Many times they stirred and muttered and reached for bedclothes that
were not there, but I doubt if either of them once really fully awoke
until a sudden glare of light illumined the hut and flashed on their
closed eyelids.
[Illustration: Now and then they spoke, but so softly that the boys
could not hear what was said]