“But you can’t.”
“Why not?” asked Dorothy, in surprise.
“By rubbing two sticks together?” scoffed Tavia.
“By rubbing one stick upon a stone,” chuckled Dorothy. “I have matches.”
“I’m glad you find it such a joke, Dorothy Dale.”
“You talk as though you had never been out in the open all night before.”
“But it wasn’t like this, you know very well. This isn’t like our woods at home. This is the West——”
“The wild and woolly West, eh?” laughed Dorothy. “Come! don’t be a goose, dear. Let’s gather plenty of fuel before it grows too dark.”
They did this, breaking off the dead branches of the trees which skirted the glade and gathering sticks already fallen on the ground. But Tavia cast fearful glances into the now darkening forest and would not venture beneath the trees at all.
“We don’t know what’s in there,” she said.