“Stumble is right,” said Dorothy wearily, as she urged her reluctant pony onward. “Oh, if I could only lie down somewhere,” she added, in a tone that she made sure would not reach Tavia. Then the absurdity of her wish appealed to her and in spite of the misery and danger of their predicament, she was forced to laugh at herself.
“So many nice comfortable places around here to lie down in,” she told herself, sweeping a hand about at the sodden landscape. “Although it would be hard to be more wet and miserable than we are just now,” she added.
They wandered on for a long time—they had no conception of just how long. Finally, because the chill was creeping into their bones and they felt stiff and cramped in their saddles, they dismounted and stumbled along on foot, leading their ponies.
At least they would get some exercise and keep the blood stirring in their veins.
Then at last relief came, or partial relief. The storm at last blew itself away and the sun—a faltering and late-afternoon sun, but the sun nevertheless—broke through the heavy clouds.
Tavia was inclined to greet him with loud exclamations of joy, but Dorothy was too bruised and anxious and miserable of mind and body to care very much whether the sun shone or not.
They sat down after a while on a couple of rocks that seemed not quite so wet as the surrounding country to talk things over.
“Garry and the rest of the handsome cowboys must be somewhere in the neighborhood,” said Tavia, determined to take a cheerful view. “And if one of them doesn’t stumble upon us Garry is sure to send out a searching party as soon as he finds we are gone.”
“But he won’t know we are gone till he gets back to the ranch, and that may be late to-night,” Dorothy pointed out to her, adding with a little moan: “What will he think of me when he finds what I have done!”
“What we have done,” corrected Tavia. “Anyway, he will be far too glad to get you back again to scold. You can be sure of that.”