“Tell her when we get back. Come on, Doro,” said the impatient Tavia.
They urged the ponies on again and Tavia put the surveyors out of her mind—quite. Not so Dorothy Dale. She could not solve the puzzle of their presence on the Hardin estate, and she was troubled.
It was almost two o’clock when the girls reached a little lawn hidden on the mountainside. It was quite surrounded by the forest, both above and below, and they had had hard work pushing through the brush to it. There seemed to be no practicable path for the ponies, leading upward.
“Let’s leave them and go on afoot,” cried the eager Tavia. “We must reach the top.”
“Suppose the ponies run away?”
“They won’t. Can’t we hobble them?”
“Mercy! I wouldn’t go so near their heels for a fortune.”
“Tie them to trees, then,” said the resourceful—and obstinate—Tavia.
It was hard work, for although the top of the mountain was quite covered with trees and brush, the ground was rocky.
Panting, but triumphant, the two girls reached the summit. The opening in the forest here was very tiny—scarcely larger than a good-sized dining-room table. The trees hedged them in and at once Tavia voiced her disappointment.