Patience Wins Part 8

"Come along then, boys," cried Uncle d.i.c.k; and now we set ourselves steadily to get over the ground, taking as straight a line as we could, but having to deviate a good deal on account of streams and bogs and rough patches of stone. But it was a glorious walk, during which there was always something to examine; and at last we felt that we were steadily going up the great rounded ma.s.s known as Dome Tor.

We had not been plodding far before I found that it was entirely different to the hills we had climbed that day, for, in place of great ma.s.ses of rugged, weatherworn rock, the stone we found here and there was slaty and splintery, the narrow tracks up which we walked being full of slippery fragments, making it tiresome travelling.

These tracks were evidently made by the sheep, of which we saw a few here and there, but no shepherd, no houses, nothing to break the utter solitude of the scene, and as we paused for a rest about half-way up Uncle d.i.c.k looked round at the glorious prospect, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.

"Ah!" he said, "this is beautiful nature. Over yonder, at Arrowfield, we shall have nature to deal with that is not beautiful. But come, boys, I want a big meat tea, and we've miles to go yet before we can get it."

We all jumped up and tramped on, with a curious sensation coming into my legs, as if the joints wanted oiling. But I said nothing, only trudged away, on and on, till at last we reached the rounded top, hot, out of breath, and glad to inhale the fresh breeze that was blowing.

The view was splendid, but the sun had set, and there were clouds beginning to gather, while, on looking round, though we could see a house here and a house there in the distance, it did not seem very clear to either of us which way we were to go.

"We are clever ones," said Uncle d.i.c.k, "starting out on a trip like this without a pocket guide and a map: never mind, our way must be west, and sooner or later we shall come to a road, and then to a village."

"But we shall never be able to reach a railway-station to-night," said Uncle Bob.

"Not unless we try," said Uncle Jack in his dry way.

"Then let's try," said Uncle d.i.c.k, "and--well, that is strange."

As we reached the top the wind had been blowing sharply in our faces, but this had ceased while we had been lying about admiring the prospect, and in place a few soft moist puffs had come from quite another quarter; and as we looked there seemed to be a cloud of white smoke starting up out of a valley below us. As we watched it we suddenly became aware of another rolling along the short rough turf and over the shaley paths.

Then a patch seemed to form here, another there, and these patches appeared to be stretching out their hands to each other all round the mountain till they formed a grey bank of mist, over the top of which we could see the distant country.

"We must be moving," said Uncle d.i.c.k, "or we shall be lost in the fog.

North-west must be our way, but let's push down here where the slope's easy, and get beyond the mist, and then we can see what we had better do."

He led the way, and before we could realise it the dense white steamy fog was all around us, and we could hardly see each other.

"All right!" said Uncle d.i.c.k; "keep together."

"Can you see where you are going, d.i.c.k?" said Uncle Jack.

"No, I'm as if I was blindfolded with a white c.r.a.pe handkerchief."

"No precipices here, are there?" I cried nervously, for it seemed so strange to be walking through this dense mist.

"No, I hope not," cried Uncle d.i.c.k out of the mist ahead. "You keep talking, and follow me, I'll answer you, or else we shall be separated, and that won't do now. All right!"

"All right!" we chorused back.

"All right!" cried Uncle d.i.c.k; "nice easy slope here, but slippery."

"All right!" we chorused.

"All ri--Take--"

We stopped short in horror wondering what had happened, for Uncle d.i.c.k's words seemed cut in two, there was a rustling scrambling sound, and then all was white fog and silence, broken only by our panting breath.

"d.i.c.k! Where are you?" cried Uncle Jack taking a step forward.

"Mind!" cried Uncle Bob, catching him by the arm.

It was well he did, for that was the rustling scrambling noise again falling on my ears, with a panting struggle, and two voices in the dense fog seeming to utter e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of horror and dread.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A NIGHT OF ANXIETY.

I looked in the direction from which the sounds came, but there was nothing visible, save the thick white fog, and in my excitement and horror, thinking I was looking in the wrong direction, I turned sharply round.

White fog.

I looked in another direction.

White fog.

Then I seemed to lose my head altogether, and hurried here and there with my hands extended, completely astray.

It only took moments, swift moments, for all this to take place, and then I heard voices that I knew, but sounding m.u.f.fled and as if a long way off.

"Cob! Where are you, Cob?"

"Here," I shouted. "I'll try and come."

"No, no!"--it was Uncle Jack who spoke--"don't stir for your life."

"But," I shouted, with my voice sounding as if I was covered with a blanket, "I want to come to you."

"Stop where you are," he cried. "I command you."

I stayed where I was, and the next moment a fresh voice cried to me, as if pitying my condition:

"Cob, lad."

"Yes," I cried.

"There is a horrible precipice. Don't stir."

It was Uncle Bob who said this to comfort me, and make me safe from running risks, but he made me turn all of a cold perspiration, and I stood there s.h.i.+vering, listening to the murmur of voices that came to me in a stifled way.

At last I could bear it no longer. It seemed so strange. Only a minute or two ago we were all together on the top of a great hill admiring the prospect. Now we were separated. Then all seemed open and clear, and we were looking away for miles: now I seemed shut-in by this pale white gloom that stopped my sight, and almost my hearing, while it numbed and confused my faculties in a way that I could not have felt possible.

"Uncle Jack!" I cried, as a sudden recollection came back of a cry I had heard.

"He is not here," cried Uncle Bob. "He is trying to find a way down."

"Where is Uncle d.i.c.k?"