It was a good sized boulder imbedded in the earth at the edge of the forest. Its face was split and scarred; two bits of mica in its front had caught and reflected the firelight, and so looked like a pair of staring eyes. This was the dreadful beast of prey that had held them in durance for an hour and a half!
The reaction of her discovery deprived Dorothy Dale’s limbs of their strength. She fell to the ground, and the flaming branch sputtered before her and flickered out. Tavia screamed again, but Dorothy was laughing weakly—almost hysterically.
“Oh, Tavia Travers! What a perfect pair of dunces we are,” gasped Dorothy. “It’s nothing—nothing, I tell you! Just some bright specks in a rock. If the boys ever hear of this they will tease us to death about it.”
“Let them,” cried Tavia, with recovered bravado. “I shall tell. You’re just the very bravest girl I ever saw, Dorothy Dale! You believed that was an awful, ravenous beast when you started for it with the torch. I consider that you have saved me from being devoured by the most savage creature that ever happened!”
“What shall we name it?” giggled Dorothy, climbing slowly to her feet and coming back with Tavia to the fire.
“Oh, a Bhronosaurus—or a Dynosaura—or—or something. Maybe a Pteryodactyl. Didn’t they all live in the Stone Age?”
“And you just from the scholastic halls of old Glenwood!” cried Dorothy. “I am astounded, Tavia Travers.”
“You needn’t be,” said her chum, coolly. “There are a whole lot of things I had to learn that I hope I have already forgotten. I guess the history of a million years, or so, ago, is fading fast from my overburdened mind. And I’ll certainly feel better when it is all wiped out.”
The incident served to bring Tavia to a better condition of mind. She shook off her foolish fears, and even assisted Dorothy in gathering a larger supply of firewood.
“For although those eyes were those of a bogey,” said Dorothy, wisely, “there may be creatures who would trouble us before morning if we had no fire.”