Re-sound-ing down be-low!’
and I almost choked getting the last low note,” croaked Tavia, coughing spasmodically.
They began mounting a shoulder of the hill almost at once. An hour later they were on the level of the plateau where the beautiful Lost River rolled. The sound of its terrific fall was only a murmur in the girl’s ears, for they were some distance above the spot to which they had explored on that other day.
The reef of rock which was to be blown out to let the waters of the stream into the forge was upon the other side of the river. Dorothy and Tavia pursued the eastern bank, and in a northerly direction.
This led them around to the far side of the mountain, to the top of which they had determined to ascend. Their sturdy little ponies carried them on at a good pace, for the way was easy.
They finally reached a sharp, short rise, over which the river tumbled in a beautiful cascade. Above these rapids the stream was spread out in sort of a lake, bordered by rocky shores. The character of the country suddenly became more rugged. A rude prospect opened beside them as the girls turned their ponies’ heads up the steeper hillside.
On their left the ground fell away into another gulch, quite as deep and rugged as that gorge on the other side of the river, in which Tavia had had her awful experience with the rattlesnake.
Suddenly Dorothy pulled in her pony and pointed down the steep incline.
“What is that, Tavia?” she asked, startled.
“What—for goodness’ sake, don’t say you see one of Nat’s bears, Dorothy Dale!”