She had experienced thus far only distrust, captivity without apparent cause, the great fear of worse things to come.
“No,” she said, “I can’t go back.” Her feet moved slowly up the trail.
“And yet I must!” She faced the other way. “I can’t go back and say to them, ‘I have no money for the school. I went on a mission and failed because I was afraid.’ No, No! I can’t do that.”
Then, lest this last resolve should fail her, she fairly ran down the trail.
She had hurried on for fully fifteen minutes when again she paused, paused this time to consider. What plan had she? What was she to do? She did not know the way to the home of her friend, nor to the home of Caleb Powell. Indeed, she did not so much as know where she was. How, then, was she to find Caleb Powell?
“Only one way,” she told herself. “I must risk it. At some cabin I must inquire my way.”
Fifteen minutes later she found herself near a cabin. A dim light shone in the window. For a moment she hesitated beside the footpath that led to its door.
“No,” she said at last, starting on, “I won’t try that one.”
She passed three others before her courage rose to the sticking point. At last, realizing that the evening was well spent and that all would soon be in bed, she forced herself to walk boldly toward a cabin. A great bellowing hound rushed out at her and sent her heart to her mouth. The welcome sound of a man’s voice silenced him.
“Who’s thar?” the voice rang out.