They boarded a train which at the end of twenty minutes came to a stop.
Bob and Welton descended. The train moved on, leaving them standing by
the track.

The remains of the forest, overgrown with scrub oak and popple thickets
pushed down to the right of way. A road, deep with mud and water,
beginning at this point, plunged into the wilderness. That was all.

Welton thrust his hands in his pockets and splashed cheerfully into the
ankle-deep mud. Bob shouldered his little bag and followed. Somehow he
had vaguely expected some sort of conveyance.

"How far is it?" he asked.

"Oh, ten or twelve miles," said Welton.

Bob experienced a glow of gratitude to the blithe Tommy Gould. What
would he have done with that baggage out here in this lonesome
wilderness of unbroken barrens and mud?

The day was beautiful, but the sun breaking through the skin of last
night's freezing, softened the ground until the going was literally
ankle-deep in slush. Welton, despite his weight, tramped along
cheerfully in the apparently careless indifference of the skilled woods
walker. Bob followed, but he used more energy. He was infinitely the
older man's superior in muscle and endurance, yet he realized, with
respect and admiration, that in a long or difficult day's tramp through
the woods Welton would probably hold him, step for step.