"Trapped, Cap'n!" cried Sybil, merrily. "What next?"
"We can't go back, you know."
"Not unless we prefer Davy Jones' locker to this stronghold—which I, for one, don't. Therefore, let's eat."
"That seems your resource in every emergency, Sybil."
"Naturally. Feasting stimulates thought; thought develops wit; wit finds a way."
Orissa raised herself to a seat upon a projecting crag and then, swinging her feet, proceeded to think while Sybil brought out the food.
"Could you climb a wire, Syb?"
"Not without years of practice. Have you positively decided to establish a circus in these wilds, Ris?"
Orissa stood upon the crag, examined the face of the rock and then drove the end of the bar she carried into a small fissure that was nearly on a level with her head. Sybil observed the horizontal bar and laughed gleefully.
"Have a sandwich, chummie, and curb your imagination," said she. "I catch your idea, but respectfully decline to accept the hazard."