“I’ll go back home to our cabin; give it up,” she declared.
She began the upward climb. Beating her way through the brush, she struggled forward. It was heart-breaking work, making her way through brush and timber. Here a dense thicket tore at her, and there a solid wall of rock blocked her progress.
“Ought to find a trail. Have to,” she panted.
With this in mind, she began to circle the slope. She felt the need of haste. Night was wearing away. The early morning would soon reveal her, a lone girl in a strange and apparently hostile country.
Panic seized her. She fairly flew through the brush until, with a sudden compact that set her reeling, she came upon a rail fence.
Beyond the fence was a narrow trail. To her immense relief she found that this trail wound away up the mountain.
That mountain trail was the longest she had ever taken. It wound on and on, up and up until there seemed no end.
The cool damp of night hung over everything. The moon, swinging low in the heavens, cast long, deep shadows far down the trail. Now a startled rabbit, springing into the brush, sent the girl’s heart to her mouth. Now the long-drawn bay of a hound at some distant cabin sent a chill running up her spine. Frightened, alone, quite without means of protection, she hurried on.
Then suddenly, as she rounded a corner, she caught the sound of voices.
“Men,” she said to herself with a shudder.