“Never you mind about my grammar, Miss Smarty!” rejoined the Western girl, who really couldn’t forget the peril into which The Fox had run her friends so recently. “If you girls are comin’ along to the top of the bridge, come on. Let the boys go down there, if they want to. The rocks are slippery, and they’ll get sopping wet.”
“There isn’t any danger, is there?” queried Helen, thinking of her brother.
“No, of course not,” replied Jane Ann. “No more danger than there is up this way,” and she led the way on the path that wound up the rocky heights.
The girls were dressed in corduroy skirts and strong, laced walking boots—a fitting costume for the climb. But had Jib been present at the camp perhaps he would not have allowed them to start without an escort. Ricardo had to remain at the camp. This was a wild country and not even Jane Ann carried any weapon, although when the ranchman’s niece rode about the range alone she carried a gun—and she knew how to use the weapon, too.
But they could hear the shouts of the boys, rising above the thunder of the river, when they left the plateau and began to climb the heights, and danger of any kind did not enter the minds of the girls. It was like picnicking along the Lumano River, at home, only the scenery here was grander.
Ruth and Helen assumed the lead after a very few minutes; they were even better climbers than the Western girl. But the way was steep and rugged and it wasn’t long before their chatter ceased and they saved their breath for the work in hand. Madge and Jane Ann came along after the chums quite pluckily; but The Fox began clamoring for rest before they had climbed half the distance to the top of the cliff.
“Oh, come on, Mary!” ejaculated Madge. “Don’t be whining.”
“I don’t see anything in this,” grumbled The Fox. “It’s no fun scrambling over these rocks. Ouch! Now I’ve torn my stocking.”
“Aw, come on!” said Jane Ann. “You’re a regular wet blanket, you are.”
“There’s no sense in working so hard for nothing,” snapped The Fox.