"I'm fagged out myself," responded Tom. "But, Sam, we can't afford to rest here."
"I know that, but I've got to get my wind back somehow. The wind seems to be awfully strong."
They rested for several minutes, and then pushed on again, Tom dragging the sled alone. It was a bitter journey, and both would have given a good deal to have been with Dick and the guide once more.
"We missed it when we didn't keep up with them in the first place," was Tom's comment. "However, there's no use in crying over spilt milk, as the saying goes. We must make the best of it."
"There isn't any best," grumbled Sam. "It's all worst!" And then Tom laughed, in spite of the seriousness of the situation.
At last they gained the spot where they had first struck the brook, and here they halted again.
"The worst of it is, there is no telling how far this brook runs before it empties into the Perch River," observed Tom. "We may have to go two or three miles out of our way."
"We may as well climb up the hill again, Tom, and try to follow one of those trails."
"Perhaps you are right."
They talked the matter over and at last began to climb the hill, now more difficult than before,
