Silently they climbed the natural stairway of rocks that ascended by the brook until they reached the pine which, having fallen across the stream, formed a bridge. Meg uttered an exclamation and turning back she said: “We are on the right trail, Jane Abbott. There is a torn bit of your sister’s red gingham dress on the tree. She evidently feared to walk across and so she jumped over.”
Jane’s eyes glowed with hope. “How happy I would be if we were the ones to find them, although, of course, the important thing is that they shall be found.”
Meg often broke through dense undergrowth, holding open a place for Jane to pass, then again she took the lead, beating ahead with her staff to startle serpent or wild creature that might be in hiding.
Jane, though greatly frightened, followed quietly, but now and then, when back of Meg, she pressed her hand to her heart to still its too rapid beating. They came to a wall of almost perpendicular rocks which the mountain girl said would save them many minutes if they could scale. How Meg climbed them alone and unaided was indeed a mystery to the watcher below. The toe of her boot fitted into a crevice so small that it did not seem possible that it could be used as a stair, but with little apparent effort the ascent was made, and then, kneeling on the top, Meg leaned far down and pulled Jane to a place at her side.
At last they came to what appeared to be a grove of poles so straight and tall were the pines. They were on a wide, slowly ascending mountainside. The ground was soft with the drying needles and it was easier to walk. Jane commented on the grove-like aspect of the place, and Meg at once told her that they were called lodge-pole trees because Indians had used them as the main poles in their wigwams. “It is the Tamarack Pine,” the mountain girl said, and then, as the ground was level for a considerable distance, she walked more rapidly, and neither spoke for some time. Jane was wretchedly unhappy and she well knew that she never again would be happy unless the children were found.
“Redfords Peak is one of the lowest in the range,” Meg turned to say when they had left the pole-pine grove and were climbing over rugged bare rocks which in the distance had looked to Jane unscaleable, but Meg, in each instance, found a way. At last they stood on a large flat rock which formed a small plateau. “This is the left shoulder of the peak,” Meg paused to say, “and it is here that we begin the descent to Crazy Creek mine. See, far down there beyond the foothills is the Packard ranch. The buildings are large, but they do not appear so from here.” Jane, sitting on a rock to rest, at Meg’s suggestion, looked about her, eager to find some trace of the lost children. From time to time they had both shouted, but there had been no answer save the startled cry of birds, or the scolding of squirrels, who greatly objected to intruders.
Suddenly the Eastern girl uttered an exclamation of surprise. “Why, there is the stage road not very far below us. Wouldn’t it have been easier for us to follow that?”
Meg nodded. “Much easier, but I had been told that the children started away along the brook, so if they were to be found we would have to hunt in the way they had gone.”
“Of course, and we did find that torn bit of Julie’s dress.”
Meg looked at her companion eagerly. “Are you rested enough now to start down? It is an easy descent to the road and we will follow it directly into the camp.” As she spoke she glanced anxiously at the sun. “It is dropping rapidly to the horizon,” Jane, having followed the glance of the other, commented.