The Boy Scouts of the Geological Survey | Page 9

part of the forest, which, though it would eventually lead him
out upon the boundary of Silas Perkins' farm, and necessitate his
crossing that surly neighbor's property, would save at least two miles of
the return journey.
Getting his bearings by the sun, in true woodsman's fashion, he left the
trail and struck off through the unblazed aisles of the wood, going
onward farther and farther at a resolute pace. The sun presently was
obscured by the thick canopy of budding trees, as Ralph descended into
a little hollow between two hills, and dusky shadows contended with
mid-daylight. Still the boy staggered onward, now and then faltering to
rest. His wounds gave him little pain now, though one eye was badly
swollen around the cut. But it bothered him and distracted his mind;
and this was probably the reason why, in his haste and distress, he
found himself growing more and more bewildered by his surroundings.
Finally he realized that he had lost his way.
"And I can't be more than five miles from home, too!" he reproached
himself, in tired disgust.

CHAPTER IV
A NIGHT IN THE WOODS
Although it was not yet noon, Ralph was as hungry as a young wolf, for
he had eaten nothing more than a dish of cold oatmeal and milk since
five o'clock that morning, and he had taken no provisions with him.
Assailed now by the pangs of a youthful, healthy, unsatisfied appetite,
he began to wonder what he could manage to "scare up" in the form of

edibles.
Near at hand was one of the numerous small springs with which these
hills abounded. It rilled up out of the earth and rocks and formed a pool
of clear water in which cress grew plentifully, furnishing him with a
welcome salad. He gathered a hatful of last autumn's
chestnuts---somewhat soggy, to be sure---and, making a small fire of
leaves and bark, he proceeded to roast these in the embers: a tedious
and unsatisfactory process at best. Having thus taken off the edge of his
hunger, he set forth upon his homeward journey again, in a new
direction.
"The next time I come up here in this neck of the woods I'll have a
pocket compass or a watch, at least," he said to himself. "It was foolish
of me to start off without one, but I've learned a lesson today, anyhow.
The trouble is, I never dreamed I'd get lost!"
He was headed directly from Pioneer Lake, as he thought, toward the
hills beyond it, and presently, as he began to climb, the scenery grew
wilder and more unfamiliar, the trees taller and set more thickly
together, the undergrowth almost impenetrable. Still he fought on. It
seemed he had never been so far in this direction before, and after the
first rush of angry despair had passed, he felt doggedly curious to learn
whither he was going, and what landmark he would see first.
For almost two hours he plodded on, burdened with his rifle and the
pair of eagles, scratching his hands and face, tearing his clothes. It was
a miserable, heart-breaking tramp, one which might have caused a less
plucky lad to sit down and give way to doleful helplessness. Even
Ralph felt an uncanny sense of utter loneliness, and he upbraided his
own stupidity, as he chose to call it, in wandering so far afield.
At last he noticed a faint roaring noise at the right, and he turned in that
direction, blindly, aimlessly. As he advanced through the undergrowth
the sound grew louder and louder, until finally he emerged from the
thicket and stood upon the bank of a deep stream which rushed
turbulently along and dropped over a ridge, falling sixty or seventy feet
into a cup-like hollow in the rock.

Ralph uttered a cry of delight. "Why, it's my own waterfall! I've been
wandering in a big circle all this while, and here I am not far from my
boulder where---ouch!" The sentence ended in a loud wail of agony, for,
taking a step forward, the young wayfarer's foot had slipped on a loose
stone. His ankle was severely wrenched.
For a few moments the pain was intense, almost unendurable. Poor
Ralph groaned aloud and sank down on the ground, biting his lips in
trying to keep tears of agony from welling to his eyes. How could he
walk the remaining distance home? Even with an improvised crutch
made from a forked branch of some tree, it would be well-nigh
impossible to travel up and down the stony grades that stretched
between the place where he had met with this unfortunate accident and
the farmhouse.
"Oh, if Keno had only not broken away!"
The futile wish was maddening in his present plight. He showered
sharp epithets upon