They had taken the back seat out, and my little boy and I sat in the bottom of the wagon, with the hard cushions to lean against through the night.

I suppose we were drowsy with sleep; at all events, the talk about the fork of the road and the North Star faded away into dreams.
I awoke with a chilly feeling, and a sudden jolt over a rock.

"I do not recollect any rocks on this road, Jack, when we came over it in the ambulance," said I.
"Neither do I," he replied.
I looked for the North Star: I had looked for it often when in open boats.

It was away off on our left, the road seemed to be ascending and rocky: I had never seen this piece of road before, that I was sure of.
"We are going to the eastward," said I, "and we should be going northwest." "My dear, lie down and go to sleep; the man knows the road; he is taking a short cut, I suppose," said the Lieutenant.

There was something not at all reassuring in his tones, however.
The driver did not turn his head nor speak.