[CHAPTER XI]
A GAME OF CHECKERS
"Nine o'clock!" cried Orissa, giving Sybil a nudge. "Are you going to sleep all day, Crusoe, like those dreadful owls?"
"I'd like to," muttered Miss Cumberford, regretfully opening her eyes. "My, what a blessed relief from that night of torture! Don't you think, Ris, that those feathered fiends only stopped the concert because they'd howled until their throats were sore?"
"I fear we made a mistake in changing our camp," returned Orissa, busy with her toilet. "The shrieks sounded much louder than they did the night before."
"Question is," said Sybil, rolling off the improvised bed, "how long we are to endure this imprisonment. If it's to be a mere day or so, don't let's move again. However, if you think we're here for life, I propose we murder every owl and have done with them."
"We can't read the future, of course," remarked Orissa thoughtfully, as she stroked her beautiful hair with her back-comb—the only toilet article she possessed. "Steve may get to us any day, or he may have a hard time finding us. He will never give up, though, nor will your father, until our retreat is located and—and—our fate determined."
"Poor Daddy!" sighed Sybil; "he'll be worried to death. I've led him a dog's life, I know; but he's just as fond and faithful as if I'd been a dutiful daughter."
"I hope they won't tell mother," said Orissa. "The anxiety would be so hard for her to bear. We know we're fairly comfortable, Syb; but they can't know that, nor have any clear idea what's become of us."