Now, although there had been no path up the mountain from the dell where the girls had tied their ponies, both Dorothy and Tavia were sure they could retrace their steps easily enough. And as the sun was already nearing the tops of the higher peaks to the westward, neither of the girls cared to linger longer on the height.
“It’s all a fizzle,” grumbled Tavia. “That’s what I call it. Why! I thought we would be able to look right down into the dooryard at the ranch.”
“It did look so from below. And if we could climb the trees here, I expect we would be able to see much of the range between the mountain and the ranch-house,” agreed Dorothy.
“Well! let us spend no time in vain repinings,” quoth Tavia, briskly. “We’ll tumble down and get into the saddle again. Guess we’re poor mountain climbers, Doro.”
“Oh, I think we have done very well.”
“Not a bit of it. Regular mountain climbers would have known from the start that nothing could be seen from the top of this mountain.”
“Every one to his trade,” laughed Dorothy.
“And mountain climbing is a trade like everything else. Of course,” added Tavia, whimsically, “to learn any trade, you have to begin at the bottom and work up.”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about parachute jumping?” chuckled Dorothy.
“Dear me! how smart you are,” said Tavia. “That reminds me of one my brother Johnny got off—because it is so different! It was when he was going to the little old school in Dalton.”