Betty began to cry.
“I think you’re mean—of course I want to get out of here, but—but you n-needn’t—”
Dorothy put her arm about the smaller girl’s shoulders.
“There, there,” she comforted, “cheer up. I won’t be cross any more. Here’s a hanky, use it and come along. Gee, I wish this rain would stop! It’s coming down in bucketfuls.”
“I’m sorry, too, for sniveling,” said Betty meekly. She made a strenuous effort to be brave as they walked away from the dark shape of the plane. “But don’t you think you’d better get out your revolver, Dorothy? Honestly, you know, we’re likely to run into anything out here in these woods.”
Dorothy burst into a peal of laughter. “Bless you, honey,” she chuckled. “I don’t carry a gun when I go calling—or any other time if I can help it. We’ll get out of this all right, don’t worry. I should have looked at the gas before we left home, but I thought there was plenty to take us over to Peekskill and back. Wispy eats the stuff—that’s the answer!”
They stumbled along on the outskirts of the woodlot, Dorothy keeping her light swinging from side to side before them.
“But I thought you always carried a gun—” insisted Betty, her mind still on the same track—“you ought to, after all you went through with those bank robbers and then the gang of diamond smugglers!”
“Well, you’ve got to have a license to tote a revolver—I’ll admit I’ve carried ’em now and then—but not to a tea!” replied her friend. “Do try and help me now, to find a way out of this place.”
“But maybe there is no way out. We can’t climb those cliffs, and this meadow’s hemmed in by the woods. Oh, dear, I wish I knew where we are!”