Bet finally got up the courage to turn her head to see if the other girls were safe, and behind her on the trail, she made out Joy's horse.
The animal had followed Bet's lead and it stood on the trail dejected and drooping, a picture of woe.
And the saddle was empty.
"Joy! Joy!" screamed Bet. "Where are you? Joy!"
No one, even a few feet away, could have heard her call and if there had been any answer, the roar of the storm deadened it.
The rain came down in a heavy sheet, soaking her to the skin and shutting out the hills across the canyon. She was alone in this blinding downpour. It seemed as if the inferno she had witnessed in the sky had fallen upon her and was eager to swallow her up. And yet Bet was thrilled.
She wanted to huddle over her pony, hold on to the saddle horn, but she dared not do it. She must find Joy.
What had happened to the other girls? Kit was probably with them, and leading them to safety. Joy was near and in need of help.
Bet carefully took her feet from the stirrups and slid to the ground with a death-grip on the saddle. There was only room for one foot on the tiny shelf of rock, and that slight space was slippery with the rain. Slowly Bet lowered herself, with the aid of the stirrup, and clutching at the tough-fibred plants, she lay down flat on her stomach. Sliding and wriggling, an inch at a time, down that slippery incline, she managed to hold on to the narrow shelf.
"Joy! Joy! Where are you?" she cried.