She and Bill were trapped at last—trapped by walls of rock and the encompassing passing ring of the enemy.
They reached the farther edge of the field where a hurried glance behind showed them that the men were plunging out of the wood road. Then the moon, perhaps ashamed of the trouble he had brought them, swam away behind another cloud formation, and once again the world was sunk in darkness.
Bill’s fingers gripped her hand.
“Follow me. Walk carefully and hold your arm before your face. It’s a case of feel our way till we get used to the gloom—and there’s no sense in losing an eye.”
He led onward through the wood and although Dorothy could see nothing but an opaque blackness before her eyes, Bill never hesitated in his stride. With his hand behind his back, he pulled her forward as though guided by an uncanny knowledge of invisible obstructions in their path.
“How do you do it?” she marveled. “Don’t tell me you can actually see to dodge these branches and tree trunks?”
She heard him chuckle.
“Not see—feel. I learned the trick in the Florida swamps last summer. Osceola, chief of the Seminoles, taught me.”
“Oh, yes! He’s a wonder in the woods. How is it done?”
“Tell you sometime. Here we are—at the Stone Hill River. You’ll have to get your feet wetter, I’m afraid, but it’s only a small stream, not deep. We turn right, here.”