Three hours passed and still no sign of the water.
He began to think he had struck too far to the north; so
corrected his course and strode along with occasional spells of
trotting. But another hour wore away arid no lake appeared.
Then Rolf knew he was off his bearings. He climbed a tree and got
a partial view of the country. To the right was a small hill. He
made for that. The course led him through a hollow. In this he
recognized two huge basswood trees, that gave him a reassuring
sense. A little farther he came on a spring, strangely like the
one he had left some hours ago. As he stooped to drink, he saw
deer tracks, then a human track. He studied it. Assuredly it was
his own track, though now it seemed on the south side instead of
the north. He stared at the dead gray sky, hoping for sign of
sun, but it gave no hint. He tramped off hastily toward the hill
that promised a lookout. He went faster and faster. In half an
hour the woods opened a little, then dipped. He hastened down,
and at the bottom found himself standing by the same old spring,
though again it had changed its north bearing.
He was stunned by this succession of blows.
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