“Well! we haven’t got to know,” her chum said, cheerfully. “We’ll keep out of the woods to-night.”
“Maybe something will come out of them after us.”
“Not if we keep a fire burning. And in the morning, as soon as it’s light, we’ll start for home. We can walk it by noon.”
“If we are alive,” sighed Tavia.
Dorothy refused to be depressed by her friend’s melancholy. She proposed making a couch of leaves and branches, and they did this. When it really grew dark and the stars came out, she produced matches and lit the fire.
She did not make a big blaze. Really, there was no need of it at all, for the evening was warm enough and a spark of light on this hillside would never be seen by any party looking for them.
By this time, of course, word had gone over the ranch that the girls were lost. Aunt Winnie would be worried. Ned and Nat would be out after them with all the men who could be spared.
“And in all probability,” Dorothy said, gravely, “nobody—not even Flores—noticed in which direction we headed on leaving the corral.”
“Well! We should worry about their worries. It’s our worries that worry me.”
Dorothy laughed. “You speak quite as intelligibly,” she said, “as the old catch question and answer: ‘What sort of a noise annoys an oyster? Why, a noisy noise annoys an oyster!’”