“Isn’t that a sort of trail there?”
So it was, indeed! Though not much more of a trail than any we had just travelled. It was noticeable, however, that here and there the heavy grass lay tumbled on the earth as though some heavy object had flattened it.
“We can try it,” I said, “although it seems a long way ’round.”
“I know,” Brent said, “but it’s better to keep in the open. There’s a slight chance one of the boys might see us, there, where they wouldn’t be looking toward the mountain.
“I can signal every once in a while as we go along that we need help. Some one of them, especially Rivers, ought to be able to understand the code. It will save time if they spy us and we can turn right back.”
I shuddered to think of that ghastly sight in the dark ravine. And I shivered in my wet clothes when I thought of the fury of the storm. Even at that moment, it was converting the busy little brook into a frothing whirlpool, dashing unmercifully against that stark, helpless form.
I wouldn’t let my thoughts quell my hopes.
“We won’t give up hope, Brent! Perhaps, he’s there—at the Lodge.”
“Perhaps not,” Brent answered, gloomily.
The wet clinging grass of the foothills, though disagreeable and cold, was a welcome relief from our mountain experiences.