During the climb, the horses often came upon sudden precipitous descents that had to be zigzagged down through loose stone and débris, then up again on the other side. When the riders reached the highest altitude of the Goré Range and looked about, they found themselves among sheer cliffs, that obstructed any distant views.
“Feels like lunchtime to me,” ventured Anne.
“I should think you’d say dinnertime—that’s the way it feels to me,” laughed Julie.
“I was afraid to say that, because I am always credited,—unjustly of course,—with being the gourmand of the Troop,” retorted Anne.
Tally now led along a trail that ran through a small park, that lay between two towering cliffs which shut off all sight of anything on either side of them. Along the bottom of this ravine-like park a clear stream of water gurgled noisily.
“Shall we camp here for luncheon?” asked the Captain, seeing the sweet green grass and cooling stream.
“Oh, no, Verny! Let’s find some woods to stop in. It’s not very inviting to feel shut in so far down,” returned Julie.
So they rode on, the horses picking their careful way over stones and roots, and their riders having to pay strict attention to the trail.
The trail wound about upthrusts of rock, where other streams ran to fall down the sides of the ravine, causing it to widen as it needed more space to carry the added waters. And at last, the scouts could see, in the distance, that the cliffs ahead ended and the stream also passed from view.
“Where the cliffs end will be a dandy spot for camp. We shall be able to sit and gaze over the park that most likely is to be found there,” suggested Joan, eagerly.