“Yes, for them. By the road across the valley and around by either of the entrances to the reservation.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because while I was out on the tree trunk, I saw lights going up the hill. Then a car which evidently had been parked down the road from Stoker’s house, started off toward the Boutonville entrance. Which means, of course, that they’ll motor in on the Boutonville road. That crosses the reservation. Then all they’ve got to do is to leave the car at the mouth of the Fire Tower trail and hike down here along the top of the cliffs. They’ve cut off any retreat down the cliffs on our part, too. Those birds intend to catch us—or rather, they want to get hold of Stoker pretty badly. They’ve left men down in the valley, I saw their lights.”
“Well, it will take them some time to walk over here from the Boutonville road,” Dorothy said wearily. “I’m going to sleep. I’ve got to.”
“You can’t—not in this rain. And you’re soaked through into the bargain.” Bill’s tone was firm. “Wait a minute—I’ve got an idea.”
Dorothy, who was half dozing with her back to the boulder, opened her eyes with an effort. She saw him draw forth a paper from his pocket, unfold it and study it with the aid of the lighted torch.
“This is a map of Poundridge Reservation,” he explained. “Here’s a trail that leads back from Raven Rocks to the Spy Rock Trail. This end of it must be about a hundred yards along the cliffs to our left, if I’ve got my bearings right. Listen, Dorothy! These two trails meet about a mile and a half from here—and close by is a cabin. It’s marked Shelter No. 6 on the map. Once in there we’ll be under cover. These shelters are rented to campers during the summer, you know. There’s sure to be a fireplace. I’ll find the dry wood and we can dry out and get warm.”
Dorothy yawned and shut her eyes again.
“No use, Bill. I hate to be a short sport—but I’m just all in. Chances are we’d find the cabin locked when we got there.”
Bill put the map back in his pocket.