They had not gone a quarter of a mile when they were soaked to the skin. Still, without a word, the girl, gripping Red’s small flashlight, trudged pluckily forward.
“We could lose ourselves in this wilderness,” Red commented.
“Not if we follow the shore.”
That, Red told himself, was true enough. But where would the shore lead them? To cabins, fireplaces, chairs, things to eat? He fancied that this girl had been romancing, dreaming to keep up her courage.
“Queer old world,” he told himself. “Here I was, twenty-four hours ago, watched over like a child. Must eat this, must not eat that. Must sleep so long. Was there an ache, a slight sprain? Send for the rub-doctor. Did I cough once? Send in the M.D. And now this. In the wilderness. Drenched to the skin. No doctor. No osteopath. No one to tell me what to eat. Free!
“And yet, such freedom! I may be caught any time and brought back.
“Back to what?” He shuddered. Well, they’d have to find him. That would be difficult. And then they’d have a fight on their hands. He was strong, as strong as a bull moose. They’d not get that girl again without a fight.
“Queer sort of girl,” he mused. “Queer place this. You meet a moose on the trail, you politely step aside and he walks calmly past. You’d think he’d snort and vanish or roar a challenge and charge. Never heard of such things. That girl’s got the place bewitched. I—”
“Look!” The girl had come to a halt. One hand was on his arm. With the other she parted the bushes. “Do you see?”
“See what?”