After some little trouble he found it, a narrow swath cutting back through the forest at right angles to the top of the cliffs. Without hesitation he began to follow the path.
Overhead the twisted branches met in a natural arch. It seemed even darker below their dripping foliage than in the open on the cliffs, and the feeble ray from his flash light penetrated but a few feet into the yawning black ahead. It was heavy going with Dorothy’s solid weight on his back. The uneven ground, sodden with rain, was slippery where his feet did not sink in the muddy loam. And at times he was near to falling with his burden.
The trail followed a snakelike course. For a time it wound over comparatively level ground, then dipped steeply into a hollow. The girl was becoming heavier by the minute. Bill stuck it out until they topped the opposite rise, then let her down.
Dorothy awoke with a start.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “Where am I?”
“So far as I can make out, we’re about half a mile down the Raven Rock trail,” he said slowly.
“And—and you carried me all this way?”
“Piggyback,” he replied laconically.
“Why, Bill! You must be nearly dead—”
“Well, there have been times when I’ve felt more peppy—”