“Give me your money! This is a stick-up!”
“I—I’ve got to catch a train,” her friend had panted as she went racing straight on.
“I’ll do something like that,” she concluded. And she did.
“Hey! Where y’ think yer goin’, sister?” the fire guard demanded as she ran up to him.
“I—I’ve got to get back there,” she puffed. “It—it’s awfully important.”
She was past him and had lost herself in the brush before he knew what had happened.
“Well, that’s that,” she chuckled. “Now to find that boy.”
This, she discovered at once, was not going to be easy. There was little or no trail. She had hoped to find an even slope on which to travel. Instead there were ridges and narrow valleys or low, deep runs. She was obliged to pass around the deepest of these. In doing so she lost her sense of direction. The brush was thick. Wild raspberry bushes tore at her. Vines tripped her. She stepped on a great, fallen log. It caved in and sent her sprawling. Fallen trees blocked her path.
“I—I’ve got to get through,” she thought, fighting doggedly on.
To make matters worse the wind shifted, setting great masses of smoke bellowing down upon her. Choking and coughing, eyes blinded, she paused to consider.