“Mmm!” murmured her friend. “That’s the question. I’m not quite sure, but I think we’re on the New York State Reservation over on Pound Ridge. A good ten miles or more from home, anyway.”
“If we’re on the reservation we’re certainly out of luck,” sighed Betty. “It’s a terribly wild place—nothing but rocks and ridges and woods and things. They keep it that way on purpose.”
“Nice for picnics on sunny days, I guess,” affirmed Dorothy. “But not so good on a rainy night, eh? Here, put on this slicker before you’re wet through. Then get down. We’ve got to move out of here.”
Betty stood up, caught the coat Dorothy threw into the cockpit, and after slipping into it, she stared fearfully about.
“What are you waiting for?” Dorothy inquired from below.
“I’m going to stay where I am,” announced Miss Mayo in a quavering voice. “It’s safer.”
“How safe?” Dorothy turned on her flash light. Its moving beam brought into bold relief the jungle of scrub oak and evergreens that walled the little pasture.
“Listen, Dorothy! I remember Father saying that they preserved game on the Pound Ridge reservation. There are sure to be bears and—and other things in these woods. Turn off the light—quick—they’ll be attracted to us if we show a light—”
“Bears—your grandmother!” said Dorothy’s mocking voice and the light flashed full on Betty. “Don’t be so silly. Come down here at once!”
“No, I won’t. I’m going to stay up here. I—I’m sure it’s safer.”