“I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could see you,” flashed Blanche, bent on being obstinate. “Go on back to your dear friends, who think you are so wonderful. Too bad they don’t know what a hateful, deceitful girl you are! I’ll leave here when I get ready, and not before.”
“How can you—” Ruth’s expostulation was suddenly drowned by an ominous rumble from above. Came a dull, reverberating roar, a pelting hail of dirt and stones, a terrific, explosive crash; then utter blackness and silence.
CHAPTER XIX
A PAIR OF INNOCENT MISCHIEF-MAKERS
Meanwhile, Jane and Frances had rushed gleefully off on their arrow-hunting quest. Jane’s impetuous method of dashing into things, coupled with Frances’ love of mischief, made them boon companions, despite their readiness to argue on sight. Jane’s merry challenge, “I’ll beat you to the ledge!” sent them crashing through brush and bush with a will that carried them several yards past it.
Their mad dash ended in catastrophe for Frances. Close at Jane’s heels, an avenging slap in the face from the recoiling branch of a stunted sapling which Jane’s headlong flight had rudely set in motion, caused Frances to stumble and pitch forward into a heap of brush. Her slam-bang invasion resulted in dislodging a peaceful garter-snake, which wriggled indignantly off almost across Jane’s feet, causing her to execute a wild leap. “Ugh, a horrid snake!” she shrieked. “You did that, Frances Bliss!”
“You snapped that limb in my face and made me fall,” counter-accused Frances. Whereupon both girls burst into laughter.
“Come on. We’re clear past the ledge. If we don’t hurry, we won’t have time to look for arrow-heads.” Jane reached forth a helping hand to haul the still-chuckling Frances to her feet.
Still hand in hand, the two trotted toward the out-cropping rocky ledge. Straight across it lay a fallen tree, scorched black and white by lightning, the greater part of its dead length extending into space. Stepping upon it, Frances ran fearlessly along toward the edge of the rocks. At every step the dry, rotten wood gave forth a crunching sound, accompanied by an ominous quivering of its entire length. Though she could not know it, it was on this very account that Ruth had forborne exploring the ledge.
“Look out!” Simultaneous with Jane’s warning cry, came a rattle of stones. Frances made a wild backward spring for safety. Precariously balanced, as was the tree across the ledge, Frances’ weight on it had served to dislodge a crumbling bit of rock on which it had partially rested. Down into the hollow below it catapulted, its brittle boughs, snapping and splintering as it descended. The terrific thud, with which it landed in the hollow, was echoed by a long, low rumble, a great quivering of the ledge itself, then a second deafening crash.