It will take
all day to write my log book up to date. I haven't touched it since
night before last."

It was about half past nine o'clock when the boys started. They paddled
across the creek and landed at the foot of the hill. Randy accompanied
them in the Water Sprite, so that he could tow the canoe back with him.

"Just you fellows sing out," he said. "I'll hear you and come across."

"All right," returned Ned, as he commenced the steep ascent of the hill,
with Clay at his heels.

Reaching the summit they turned and waved their hands to Randy, who was
slowly paddling toward camp, far below them.

Of the camp itself not a vestige could be seen, even from this
elevation.

Then the boys set their faces toward the east, and strode briskly
through the pine forest that covered the level plateau. For a mile or
two the land was very rugged and lonely. Then open fields began to
appear here and there, and an occasional farmhouse nestled amid orchards
in a valley, or standing boldly against the sky from a hill top.

Such implicit faith did Ned place in his map that he shunned the roads,
and did not think it worth while to stop at any of the farmhouses to ask
information. With a view to reaching the village in the most direct
manner, he cut straight across country, skirting fields of grain and
corn, it is true, but taking everything else as it came--hills, ravines,
orchards, and meadows.

And all this time the boys were making one of the most foolish blunders
that can well be imagined--taking into consideration, of course, the
peculiar nature of the creek and the constantly shifting scenery
through which they were passing. Later on, when the consequences of
their thoughtlessness stared them in the face, they wondered how they
could have been so blind.

When the farmhouse bells began to clang from distant points the boys
knew that it was half past eleven o'clock.

"We have surely covered six miles in two hours," said Ned. "West Hill
can't be far away. No doubt we will see it from that next ridge."

But when the ridge was gained no village was in sight. Something else
was visible, however--a narrow country road, running at right angles to
the direction from which the boys had come; and nailed to the fence was
a sign post, inscribed in crooked black letters as follows:

To West Hill
3 Miles.

There was nothing for it but to go on, and that they did in a weary,