Tavia started, and stared about the opening in the trees. It would seem to be a simple matter to leave this place, descend through the woods to the plateau, and so down the riverside.
But there was not a landmark to guide them. They had not thought to take note of the trees and rocks, in relation to each other, while they made the ascent. Their knowledge of the points of the compass were somewhat vague, despite the view they had of the setting sun.
“Oh, Doro!” wailed Tavia, suddenly. “I’m afraid! I’m afraid of these woods. I’m afraid we’ll get down into that deep gorge where those men were. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! let’s not move from this spot.”
Tavia was almost hysterical. That was the way it was with her—always. If she was startled she lost her self-possession entirely.
But with Dorothy it was different. A situation like this brought her better sense to the surface. She was determined to keep cool—especially when her chum showed the white feather.
“Now, Tavia! do be sensible,” begged Dorothy Dale. “We’ve got to face the thing squarely. Of course, without the horses we could not get home to-night. And to wander around in the dark, seeking a way that is none too clear by daylight, would be a perfectly ridiculous thing to do, under any circumstances.”
“Well, Doro! do you mean to stay here?”
“Why not?”
“The bears—wolves—cat-o’-mountains——”
“Are probably creations of Nat’s vivid imagination,” interposed Dorothy, with decision.