Not a mark appeared. Both boys were chilled now, and their spirits drooped. The possibility of being lost on the mountain began to definitely form itself in their minds. "I'm mighty sorry I got you into this scrape, Van," Bob said after a long pause. "I was too cock-sure of myself. That comes of thinking you know it all." "Pooh! It wasn't your fault, Bob. I'd give a cent, though, to know where we are. Do you suppose we've been making any progress all this time, or just going round in a circle?" "Search me. I'll bet we've walked miles," groaned Bob. "I've got to rest if we never find the trail." He spoke wearily. "You're not going to sit down, Bob," Van retorted sharply. "Brace up. You've got to keep moving." "But I can't. I'm tired and--and--sleepy." His voice trailed off into a yawn. "I don't care." Van wheeled on his friend fiercely and striding up to him shook him violently by the shoulders. "Now pull yourself together!" he commanded. "Where's your nerve? Brace up or I'll rattle the daylights out of you." "I can't go another step." "You've got to. Start on ahead. Don't crawl that way--walk! Faster! Faster than that, do you hear? I'm just behind you, and I shall step on your heels if you lag. Keep it up. Go on." Panting, Bob obeyed. Suddenly he gave a cry. "What's the matter?" demanded Van. "There! There on the tree!" He pointed before him with trembling hand. "Your sweater!" Van pushed past him. "Sure as fate! My sweater! Blamed if it isn't."