“Terry told me that a smaller stream flowed into this creek at just about this point, and that it drops into the river gully by way of a low waterfall. It was the sound of that fall I was listening for. Hear it just over there to the right?”
“What’s the next move?”
“We turn our backs on the waterfall, and cross this stream. The trail starts in a kind of open chimney in the foot of the cliffs. The map calls these young precipices Raven Rocks, by the way. If you think it is too dangerous, we can let those chaps catch us. They’ll probably let us go soon enough. They’re trailing the wrong party, though they haven’t realized it. What do you say?” Bill’s tone was non-committal.
“I know, they took you for Stoker Conway. But don’t you see, Bill—” her tone was firm, “they must not find out their mistake. While they’re tracking us, they will leave the Conway house alone, and that’ll give Terry and Stoker a chance to hunt for the book and the letter.”
Bill’s reply was flippant, but there was a note of relief in his voice. “Chance to get a good night’s rest, you mean!”
“They’re not going to bed—” Dorothy pulled her companion toward the opposite bank of the stream. “Terry told me so.”
“Thank goodness we’re out of that,” she exclaimed a moment later as they climbed the steep side of the gully. “If there’s anything colder than a trout stream, I’ve yet to find it. I’m soaked nearly to my waist—how about you?”
“Ditto. We’ll be warm enough presently—just as soon as we hit Raven Rocks.”
“Wish we had raven’s wings—we could use ’em!”
“Listen!” Bill stopped suddenly in his tracks.