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After a meal which we were almost too tired to eat, we spread our scanty bedding on the ground and composed ourselves for slumber. An owl settled on a branch near our heads and surveyed us with amazement. Back and forth he flew, studying the strange intruders from every angle. Then with a “hoot” of protest and derision, he winged away to attend to the business of the evening.

“Ugh, this ground is hard,” grunted Dan.

“And none too warm,” thought I, but neither cold nor discomfort could prevail for long against our utter exhaustion.

I sat up with a start. A grey day was breaking; the trees rustled in a wind that moaned and muttered with chilly breath. Big drops of rain beat on my face.

“Quick, Dan, get up!” I cried to the snoring partner of my dreams. “It’s going to pour down rain in a few minutes.”

We scurried around, collecting and packing our scattered belongings, then decided to make a dash for a big barn which stood not far down the road at the foot of a hill, for the rain was beginning to fall heavily. Reaching the highway, we sprang to saddle and sped down the hill. With a sickening lurch the front wheel struck a slippery patch of mud at the bottom, the hind wheel skidding sideways. The heel of my right shoe caught in the pedal shaft and in a trice was torn from my foot and sent spinning ten feet away. Dan went sprawling on the wet earth, while I hopped awkwardly along, bruising my shins, but clinging desperately to the handle bars with both hands.