“Location—I did get it! It’s—Una. She seemed to be trying to spell out ‘Speckle’—I could only pick up a letter or two. But ‘L. S’, that was our abbreviation for Little Speckle—Little Sister Mountain, over there; sending a ‘radio’—a message—we always sent it, code or speech.... Oh! she’s not here, at all—and, somehow, I knew she wasn’t all the time. She’s on Little Speckle—at some camp on Little Sister—and she has managed to send out a message ... Una!”
A gulf yawned between the girl and boy into which all their previous ideas dropped—out of which rose the most wonderful sunrise they had ever seen; they stared at each other stupidly across it.
“Oh-h! you may ride north, south, east or west, if you like—but I’m going over there.” Suddenly Pemrose Lorry tore her spiked heel out of the mud—out of the ground connection which had done its work.
“Oh! unhitch the antenna—quick,” she screamed.
“But—it beats me—” The boy hesitated a moment—blankly.
“Nothing did ‘beat’ you! Even if I didn’t—didn’t get the ‘location’,” she stamped her foot, “those two letters, the bungled rest of it, there’s only one strong station really near enough for me to pick up anything—distinctly—with the ring. That—that’s the new one over on Speckle Mountain, just rigged up by college professors—can’t see their camp from here—closed a few days ago, when we rode up there. But—now....”
She was restoring the ring to its case—that to her breast, as she spoke, preparing to mount her horse.
“Oh! you—you may ride to the top—go to the right and follow your left ear, if you like!” The blue eyes snapped at him impudently—as did the girl’s crop—in the incredible excitement of the moment. “But I—”
He was going to the right, unlooping the aërial from the pine tree—in a bewitched, protesting way.
“But, for heaven’s sake! look out how you go—where you’re going,” he cried, five minutes later, following Pemrose on horseback down the steep trail. “Don’t—don’t try to run him downhill! Better get there late than not at all!”