But it was such a wild wilderness—the sort chosen just on that account for hotel purposes. And after the brilliancy of the ballroom it did seem so very dark out of doors.
"This way, Hazel," said Betty courageously. "I know the loneliest spot. Maybe she has been stolen, and might be hidden away in that hollow."
"But if we go there alone——"
"I'm not afraid," and Betty clutched her light stick. "If I found her, they would hear me scream all the way to—Portland!"
Men were searching all over the grounds. Every possible sort of outdoor lantern had been pressed into service, and the glare of searchlights flickered from place to place like big fireflies.
It was terrible—everything dreadful was being imagined. Only Ed, Walter and Jack tried to see a possibility of some mistake—of some reasonable explanation.
It was exciting at first, that strange, dark hunt, but it soon became dreary, dull and desolate.
Hazel and Betty gave up to have a good cry. Jack and Ed insisted upon following Mr. Rand on horses, making their way over the mountain roads and continually calling Cora.
Walter followed the advice of the hotel proprietor, and went to notify the drivers of a stage line, which took passengers on at the Point.
But how suddenly all had been thrown into a panic of fear at the loss of Cora! Not a girl to play pranks, in spite of some whispers about the hotel, those most concerned knew that Cora Kimball was at least being held a prisoner against her will somewhere; by whom, or with whom, no one could conjecture.