Perhaps she had revealed more of her alarm than she had meant to in that exclamation.
At any rate, Dorothy looked at her queerly, and, with a huge effort of will, jerked herself upright in the saddle.
“I’m all right, Tavia,” she said courageously. “I’ll keep hold of the pony’s mane as you said. But, Tavia—you go first!”
Her heart full of misgivings, Tavia urged her pony forward and began the steep and slippery descent to the road far below.
It seemed for a little while that the elements, having given them a taste of what they could really do if put to it, had decided to take mercy on them.
There was a lull in the storm. The rain continued to fall, but more gently, and the thunder seemed to have spent its fury, retiring into the distance with muttered and ever decreasing rumblings.
But just as the girls, making slow progress of it and stopping every now and then to rest and give Dorothy a chance to rally her forces, had begun to hope that the storm was almost over, it burst upon them again, more furiously than ever.
Came the rain again and then the wind, bending trees backward before its onslaught, driving the rain relentlessly into their faces, forcing them to halt every few paces to pass a hand across their blinded eyes and peer anxiously along the trail.
“We shall be lost if we don’t look out,” Dorothy panted, during one of these pauses.
“Look out!” repeated Tavia, with a brief laugh. “Fine chance we have to look out when we can’t see more than a few feet before our faces. How are you feeling, Doro—any stronger?”