“I know it,” replied Dorothy, dabbing at her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. “But I ache so, Tavia, and I am so frightened about Joe, and I wish Garry were here. Then, when you spoke of the ranch kitchen, it was just about the last straw!”
“You might know I would go and put my foot in it!” cried Tavia penitently and quite at a loss what to do next. “You poor girl. You got horribly banged up with that fall. If you weren’t the best sport ever you wouldn’t go on at all. But honestly, Doro, I don’t know what to do.”
“Of course you don’t,” cried Dorothy, trying to smile and succeeding pretty well, considering. “And I am a goose to act this way——”
She stopped short, a curious expression leaping to her eyes.
What was that she had heard?
Had it been a wail—a cry for help?
Nonsense! In this wilderness?
Again it came, and this time unmistakable.
She clung to Tavia, her face terrible to see in its agony of doubt, of sudden hope.
“Some one is in trouble!”