Sure enough, dimly through the gloom, not many feet away, appeared the outline of timber of considerable growth, showing that they had descended somewhat, also an increased depth of soil. It was further evident that the cañon was getting narrower, and presently they came upon two logs, laid across it side by side, forming a sort of bridge. Frank knelt and examined them closely.
"Some one has used this," he said. "This may be a trail. Do you think we can get over, Conny?"
The girl looked at the narrow crossing and at the darkening woods beyond. It was that period of stillness and deepening gloom which precedes a mountain storm. Still early in the day, one might easily believe that night was descending. Constance shuddered. She was a bit nervous and unstrung.
"There is something weird about it," she said. "It is like entering the enchanted forest. Oh, I can cross well enough—it isn't that," and stepping lightly on the little footway she walked as steadily and firmly as did Frank, a moment later.
"You're a brick, Conny," he said heartily.
An opening in the bushes at the end of the little bridge revealed itself. They entered and pushed along, for the way led downward. The darkness grew momentarily. Rain was beginning to fall. Yet they hurried on, single file, Frank leading and parting the vines and limbs to make the way easier for his companion. They came presently to a little open space, where suddenly he halted.
"There's a light," he said, "it must be a camp."
But Constance clung to his arm. It was now quite dark where they stood, and there came a low roll of thunder overhead.
"Oh, suppose it is something dreadful!" she whispered—"a robbers' den, or moonshiners. I've heard of such things."
"It's more likely to be a witch," said Frank, "or an ogre, but I think we must risk it."