“Excellent idea!” said Tavia, suiting the action to the word. “Now, we’ll see what is funny about that mountain.”
Silently they crept through the woods, careful to avoid twigs that might crack under their feet.
Once when Tavia caught her toe in the gnarled root of a tree and fell full length upon the ground, she lay there for several seconds, afraid to move while Dorothy stood motionless, her hand touching the trunk of a tree to steady herself.
Nothing happened, no sound broke the murmurous silence of the woods, and finally they gained courage to start again.
They had gained some distance when Dorothy stopped, bewildered, and reached out a hand to Tavia.
“It’s queer we don’t hear any further sound from him,” she said, her lips close to Tavia’s ear. “I can’t tell which way to go, can you?”
Tavia shook her head and was about to speak when Dorothy raised her hand imploringly.
She had heard another sound, and they were startlingly close to it.
A man was speaking and although they could not hear the words they could tell by his tone that they were angry and threatening. And again the voice seemed to come from the heart of the mountain itself.
“Where in the world does that voice come from?” whispered Tavia. “I don’t mind telling you, Doro, that it has me scared.”