Noon found them perhaps three miles into the wilderness. They had
endeavored to steer a direct northerly course, frequently consulting the
compass Ruth carried, which still obligingly pointed due north. Their
progress had been most leisurely, for they were not concerned as to the
amount of ground they covered. With so many interesting sights to see,
they preferred to go slowly and thus miss nothing worth while.

The wrist watches, which most of the girls wore, showed half past twelve
when they halted for luncheon in a tiny natural open space between the
trees, within sight of a small but noisy brook which chattered
complainingly as it rushed along over the stones.

The site chosen was an ideal spot for loitering, and the amateur
foresters hailed it with shouts of gleeful acclamation.

“It seems good to see the sun again,” commented Sarah, squinting
gratefully up at the sunlight that poured generously down from between
the giant trees, which formed a leafy wall about the little enclosure.

“I love the sun, but oh, you eats!” trilled Frances, casting a loving
eye upon the hamper that Anne and Betty had just set upon a convenient
flat rock. It being their only burden, the Equitable Eight had taken
turns carrying it, having laughingly barred their hostess-guide from
playing porter.

“You think more about eating than about Nature study, Frances Bliss,”
accused Jane with a lofty indifference to the pangs of hunger, which
were at that very moment assailing her.

“Can you look me squarely in the eyes and say you are not starved, Jane
Pellew?” was the severe retort, as Frances marched over to her pet
diversion, thrusting her mischievous face within a few inches of Jane’s.

“No, I can’t, you ridiculous person,” Jane’s lofty expression vanished
in a half-vexed laugh. “Still, I am too polite to mention being starved
unless I’m forced to do it.”

“You _really_ mean that you lack simple frankness, Plain Jane,”
translated Frances gently. “You _may_ be polite, and occasionally frank.
I can readily recall several such occasions, though I prefer not to
dwell on them publicly. But _I_ am _always_ frank. It was my extreme
frankness as a mere infant which induced my fond parents to name me
Frances. Frankness and Frances are synonymous. Do you catch the beauty
of the synonym?”

“Take her away,” begged Jane of the laughing listeners. “She gives me
the headache.”

“Let’s condemn her to hard labor. Make her unpack the hamper,” sentenced
Betty, firmly seizing the talkative synonym of frankness by the arm.
Jane lost no time in grasping her tormentor’s other arm. Protesting
volubly, Frances was conducted to the hamper. Then the avenging duo
encountered a snag.

“You can drag an Equitable Eighter to a hamper, but you can’t make her
unpack it,” jeered the victim of force.

“Oh, yes we can,” confidently assured Jane. “You make one arm go, Betty,
and I’ll work the other.”

Thereupon followed a bit of by-play that sent the interested onlookers
into shrieks of laughter. Frances was possessed of not only a will of
her own, but corresponding strength as well. She put forth no effort to
free herself; her arms simply refused to move in accordance with the
will of her propellers. In fact, they flourished in every direction
except hamperward, causing those of her captors to flourish unwillingly
with them.

“No use, Jane,” gasped Betty. Weak with laughter she relaxed her hold.
“She’s a second Sandow. I’d rather unpack the hamper twice over than
keep this up.”

“The world is mine!” orated the triumphant conqueror, cheerfully waving
the arm that Betty gladly dropped. “I feel like the Brave Little Tailor
in Grimm’s Fairy Tales, who vanquished seven at one blow. Plain Jane,
you may spend the next week of your young life embroidering me a girdle
bearing that lovely legend.”

“You’re a brave little nuisance,” scathingly commented Jane. “You’ll
wait a long time for that girdle.”

“How can I win her approbation?” murmured Frances. “Ah, I have it! I
will unpack the eats and feed her a sandwich.”

“You will _not_.” Jane beat a prompt retreat as Frances made an
energetic attack upon the hamper. Snapping up the fateful sandwich, she
pursued the fleeing object of her mischievous intentions in and out
among the trees, leaving her amused companions to busy themselves with
the task she had begun only to abandon.

It was a very merry group that presently gathered about the tablecloth,
laid on the mossy ground, and covered with a variety of eatables, best
suited to picnicking. Frances’ nonsense had only served to heighten the
atmosphere of good humor which had prevailed from the starting out of
the expedition. Luncheon finished, they strolled over to the little
brook to watch its hurried progress over the greenish-brown stones, and
to dabble their hands in its clear waters.

“Why, what has become of the sun?” was Ruth’s cry. After loitering for
half an hour by the rock, they had returned to the spot where they had
lunched to recover the hamper and go forward again. Along the banks of
the little stream the trees grew thickly, seeming almost to arch
overhead. In consequence, they had failed to note Old Sol’s gradual
disappearance behind a bank of bluish-gray clouds until, back in the
open space, Ruth now called concerned attention to it.

Miss Drexal raised anxious eyes to the threatening cloud bank. “It
doesn’t look promising, girls,” she declared uneasily. “I am not sure
what those clouds mean. We sometimes have dreadful wind storms in this
region. We had best about-face and make for the cottage. These clouds
may pass; again they may not. It is almost three o’clock now. Should it
begin to rain and rain steadily, it would be anything but pleasant in
these woods.”

With no impeding luggage save the now light hamper, the return journey
through the forest was begun within three minutes after Miss Drexal had
sounded her warning call to march. This time there was no stopping by
the way. All realized the importance of reaching shelter before a storm
of either wind or rain or both should descend upon them. Thus far, there
was little wind, yet as they proceeded, a faint but ominous rustling of
leaves overhead told them that the wind was rising. The fact that it did
not increase as they hurried along served somewhat to still their fears.

Apprehension returned full force during the last half mile. The
portending rustle gradually grew into a profound sigh, as though the
very leaves on the trees had united in protest against the rough tactics
which the wind was rapidly adopting.

“We’re off our course,” called Ruth, consulting the compass. “Not much
but a little. We must have strayed through being in such a rush to get
home. We were going directly south when last I looked; about twenty
minutes ago.”

“Let me see.” Miss Drexal halted and scrutinized their surroundings.
“It’s all right,” she encouraged. “I know where we are. We shall come
out of the woods about a quarter of a mile below the Heights, on the
road to the village. Forward march, children. It won’t be long until we
are there. We must try to escape the rain.”

“Follow your leader,” ordered Ruth cheerfully, catching Emmy’s arm as
she rushed her playfully forward. Miss Drexal now ahead as guide, the
two girls swung along directly behind her.

“Hurrah!” Emmy sang out joyfully. Through the trees she had glimpsed the
road for which they were making.

“O-h-h!” a howl of anguish went up from the rear, causing the registrar
to whirl and hasten in the direction of the sound. It proceeded from
unlucky Jane, whose feet had unwarily wandered into the meshes of a
fondly-clinging vine. Her wail had ascended as she descended, full
force, upon her face.

Before Miss Drexal had reached her, she had regained her feet and stood
sputtering angrily at the unfeeling Frances who had laughed so hard as
to be unable to assist her fallen comrade.

Emmy turned and took a few steps toward Jane. Ruth was about to follow
her when the purr of an automobile, dashing along the near-by road,
attracted her attention. She obtained a good look at the driver, a dark,
thin-faced young man, bending far over the wheel. His companions she
merely glimpsed, as the machine flashed by, yet that one glimpse brought
a soft “Oh” of dismay to her lips. Glancing quickly about, she was
relieved to note that her friends had evidently paid no attention to the
passing of the automobile. They were still busy with Jane. By the time
they turned and came up with her, Jane still sputtering at the grinning
Frances, who was endeavoring to lead her along, the automobile had
disappeared around a curve in the road.

“Safe!” exclaimed Anne dramatically. “We are out of the woods at last.”

“Safe nothing,” disagreed Sarah. “I just felt a raindrop on my head.
There’s another!” she cried as a big drop splashed upon a broad-leafed
weed in front of her. “We’d better run for it.”

Her advice promptly heeded, the party set off pell-mell over the narrow
strip of weed-grown ground that sloped gently down to the road. Up the
road the race for shelter continued, Ruth and Frances well in the lead.

“Look out!” Ruth’s warning rang out just in time to scatter the runners
as the same automobile she had so recently seen tore down upon them.
This time the driver was alone. Like a flash he dashed by them, looking
neither to the right nor left.

Only the fact that the rain was now beginning to come down in earnest
deterred the ruffled hikers from holding forth wrathfully then and
there. Bottling their caustic opinions of reckless motorists until a
more convenient season, the homeward flight was continued. Rounding the
curve, beyond which stood the cottage, every pair of eyes picked up a
blue-clad figure fleeing across the lawn toward the front door.

“There’s Blanche!” called out Anne. “She has her hat on. She must have
gone walking and got caught in the rain.”

“Do her good,” muttered Jane.

Bent on gaining cover, no one else took time to comment upon the girl
just disappearing into the cottage. Nevertheless one of them had
received a most unpleasant shock, and that one was Ruth Garnier.

                               CHAPTER XI

                           THE REVOLT OF RUTH

“We certainly missed one grand ducking,” crowed Jane. “Just listen to
that!”

Gathered in the living room, the foresters had good reason for
self-congratulation. Not more than ten minutes had passed since their
run to cover, yet in that short interval, the shower had increased to
driving sheets of rain that lashed furiously against the window panes.
Above the beating of the rain, the wind whistled and roared about the
sturdy little cottage, as though determined to tear it from its
foundations.

“I’d hate to be back in the woods now with this storm going on,”
shuddered Betty. “That wind is strong enough to send the trees crashing
down.”

“We are lucky to have escaped it,” said Miss Drexal. “I would advise you
girls to go upstairs and change your damp clothing. Then you will run no
risk of catching cold. I am going to take my own advice and do so at
once.”

“I hope that horrid man that nearly ran us down gets a good wetting,”
grumbled Sarah.

“He wasn’t a man. He was only a crazy boy,” jeered Jane.

“I’d like to know where he came from so suddenly,” remarked Betty. “I
wonder if he lives somewhere near here.”

“He drove his car up the road just as we came out of the woods,”
informed Ruth. “Didn’t any of you see him then? It was at the very
minute when Jane fell down.”

“You couldn’t expect us to bother with a little thing like an automobile
when our Jane had come to grief,” smiled Anne. “I never even heard it.”

“Nor I,” chorused several voices.

For reasons best known to herself, Ruth was not sorry to hear this.

“He couldn’t have gone much further than the cottage, or he wouldn’t
have come back so soon,” argued Betty. “He certainly didn’t stop at the
Heights, or Martha would have mentioned it when she told us about the
drayman bringing our trunks.”

“I don’t see why he should stop here,” declared Jane. “We don’t know him
and he doesn’t know us.”

“The Mystery of the Mad Motorist; or Why, Where and When,” supplied
Frances gaily.

“Very likely he was afraid of the storm, and decided to turn back,”
suggested practical Betty, bent on clearing up the mystery.

“Why bother our heads over a silly boy who hasn’t any notion of speed
laws?” laughed Marian. “Let’s think of our own precious selves, and go
upstairs for a grand change of costume. Blanche has certainly beaten us
to it. She didn’t stop to compare notes with us.”

“That’s so. I’d forgotten about seeing her come in just ahead of us. I
wonder where _she_ had been.” Mention of Blanche had aroused Jane’s
curiosity. “She must have—” Jane stopped. She had been on the point of
saying that Blanche must have forgotten all about being tired.

Sarah giggled faintly. She had guessed the rest of the speech to be
satirical, hence Jane’s reason for chopping it off so abruptly. Ruth
cast the sharp-tongued girl an approving glance, which Jane caught and
understood.

“Come, girls.” Miss Drexal moved toward the hall.

Arrived in their rooms, the hikers lost no time in changing their
slightly damp clothing for simple house gowns, substituting pumps and
slippers for their cumbersome high tan boots.

The Guardian found Blanche, already arrayed in a pale blue linen gown,
seated before the dressing-table rearranging her auburn hair in the
elaborate coiffure she always affected.

“I thought I would go for a walk,” she began hurriedly, before Miss
Drexal had time to make a remark. “I had no idea it was going to storm.
I was hurrying for the cottage when you and the girls came up the road.
I was tired of just sitting around doing nothing,” she added, as though
feeling it incumbent upon her to explain her movements.

“I am glad you went. It was fortunate you didn’t walk far,” replied Miss
Drexal, smiling. She was secretly pleased to find that her languid guest
had been about and stirring. Her advice to Blanche, before starting on
the walk, had evidently borne fruit. At once busying herself with her
own dressing, she failed to observe the curious expression of relief
that lurked in Blanche’s eyes as she studied the other woman intently
for an instant, then turned to the mirror.

Before Miss Drexal had completed her change of gown, Blanche rose and
walked to the door. “I am going to Ruth’s room,” she announced. She was
bent on getting away, lest the registrar should ask questions which she
could not truthfully answer. She preferred not to commit herself to
anything which might afterward involve her in a mesh of difficulties.

Admitted to Ruth’s room by Emmy, she found the three girls had begun the
overhauling of their steamer trunks.

“It’s a good thing for us these trunks came,” congratulated Marian. From
a kneeling position before her own, she looked up and nodded brightly.
“What time did they get here, Blanche?”

This being one of the very questions Blanche was trying to evade, it
stumped her for an instant. Quickly rallying, she drawled, “I’m not
sure. While I was asleep, perhaps, or maybe while I was out walking. I
didn’t ask Martha. I—well—I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

“Didn’t you have any luncheon?” Emmy turned abruptly from the chiffonier
drawer, which she was filling with the soft silk blouses she usually
wore in preference to the heavy white middies.

“No. I didn’t want any. I—that is—Martha understood she needn’t get me
any luncheon.”

“You must be hungry by this time,” observed Marian. “Never mind, it will
soon be dinner time. Jane and Frances are the cooks to-night. I hope
Martha can hear herself think.”

“Will you sit down, Blanche?” Thus far Ruth had refused to look at the
caller. Her eyes fixed steadily on the tray of her trunk, she was
wondering dejectedly what she ought to do.

“No, thank you.” Deep in her own problem, Blanche failed to mark the
note of constraint in Ruth’s voice. “Would you mind coming to my room,
Ruth?” She had made a swift resolve to ask Ruth to find out from Martha
when the trunks had arrived; also if the latter had kept strictly away
from her door, and what she had said about the message Ruth had
delivered. It would be easy to further impress on Ruth that it was
necessary to know these things in order to keep secret her pretended
consideration toward Miss Drexal.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” Unwittingly, Blanche had opened to Ruth
the way she dreaded and yet felt was the only right one. Her pleasant
face set in determined lines, Ruth turned from her trunk and followed
Blanche to the door.

Emmy shot a curiously speculative glance after the two as they
disappeared. She wondered what now ailed finicky Blanche. Marian
placidly continued her unpacking. She was not concerned by the request
for a private session with Ruth.

“Did you give Martha my message? What did she say?” They were hardly in
the hall when Blanche began her questioning.

“She didn’t like it very well.” Ruth had decided not to be too hasty. It
was just possible that Blanche intended to offer a satisfactory
explanation of what Ruth had privately observed. “She said she didn’t
like to go against Miss Drexal’s orders. I repeated what you said about
not caring to worry Miss Drexal, and saving extra work. Then she said,
‘All right,’ but that she would have to tell Miss Drexal to-night. I
said it wouldn’t matter then, because—”

“You shouldn’t have said that! It matters a good deal!” Vexation robbed
Blanche of caution. They had now reached her room and entered.

“Why?” Ruth swung the door shut, and faced her companion, her usually
placid features alive with accusation.

“I didn’t want her to know. That’s all. Why—what’s the—matter?” Blanche
began haughtily enough, but ended by stammering. Ruth’s stern expression
sent a chill to her heart.

“That is _not_ all,” Ruth grimly contradicted. “I’m glad you asked me to
come here. Still, I should have come anyway to ask you to explain a
number of things.”

“What do you mean?” Blanche tried to pretend amazement.

“You know very well what I mean.” Ruth made an impatient gesture. “Why
pretend that you don’t? You’ve deceived me from the very start, but you
can’t do it any longer. I saw you this afternoon in the automobile that
passed us—”

“Where were you when you—” With a gasp Blanche checked herself, looking
the picture of guilt.

“Where was I when I saw you?” Ruth smiled wryly. “I was standing at the
edge of the woods when the machine went along the road. We came out of
them about a quarter of a mile below the cottage. Jane fell down. The
rest of the girls and Miss Drexal went back to her. It was then I saw
you. No one else even noticed the automobile. Of course, we all saw you
running toward the cottage. The girls thought nothing of that. There’s
just this much about it, Blanche, you owe me a full explanation. You’ve
got to begin at the very first of this affair, and tell me every single
thing about it.”

A note of passionate resentment had crept into Ruth’s voice. The
humiliating knowledge that she had served as a cat’s-paw to Blanche had
struck deep. Her sturdy soul revolted against the very idea of it. Now
she was resolved to learn the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth. Further, she would not leave the room until she had learned
it.

                              CHAPTER XII

                              THE PROMISE

“You haven’t any right to pry into my affairs, and I shan’t tell you a
thing.” Secure in the knowledge that only Ruth had seen her in the
automobile, Blanche’s dismay changed to defiance. “Whatever I choose to
do is no concern of yours. Kindly mind your own business.”

“This happens to be my business.” Ruth was not to be shaken in her
purpose. “You were to be _my_ guest in the first place. When we changed
our plans, I included you in them. I was warned that you had an axe to
grind. I didn’t believe it. But that doesn’t matter now. What does
matter is that while you are Miss Drexal’s guest, you shan’t do again as
you did to-day. If you expect to go automobiling with a young man, then
you must do so openly, and with Miss Drexal’s consent.”

“I want you to distinctly understand that I am engaged to that young
man. I have a perfect right to accept his attentions, if I choose.”
Defense of her conduct wrung this admission from Blanche’s unwilling
lips.

“Not in the way you did to-day,” maintained Ruth. “What do you suppose
Miss Drexal would say if she knew this? She is not merely our hostess,
she is our guardian. She feels responsible for all of us. If, as you
say, he is your fiancé, then you should have announced your engagement
to her, and asked her if he might call on you openly.”

“You don’t understand things at all,” retorted Blanche hotly.

“But I intend to before I leave this room!” Ruth steadily assured. “You
will have to do one of two things, Blanche. Either you must explain the
whole affair to me, or else go to Miss Drexal and tell her.”

Blanche gasped angrily, but offered no reply. She glowered at Ruth for
an instant, then dropped her eyes. “If I did tell you, you’d go and tell
her anyway,” she muttered.

“Perhaps I wouldn’t. I’d rather not if we can settle things between
ourselves. That’s why I’m asking you to be frank with me.”

Something in the earnest words awoke Blanche to the fact that Ruth
really did wish to help her, rather than expose her folly. “I suppose
I’d better tell you,” she said sulkily. “My mother doesn’t know I’m
engaged, and I don’t want her to. She forbade me even to be friends with
Donald. She doesn’t allow him to call on me. That’s why I was anxious to
get away from home this summer. I thought if I went to visit you, he
could come to see me there and pretend to be my cousin. Then Miss Drexal
changed things all around and upset our plans. So he came up here, and
is staying in Lakeview.

“I thought I could see him once in a while and no one would know it. No
one would have, either, if that old storm hadn’t come up. I was going to
walk home from the place where I met him this morning. It’s about a mile
from here. We drove to Lakeview and had luncheon there at a hotel. We
left the machine there and walked all around the town. While we were
driving back, the sky began to get dark. He was afraid I’d get caught in
the storm, so he brought me almost home. I never thought you girls would
come back that way,” she ended in an aggrieved tone.

Ruth’s feelings, as she listened to this tale, were decidedly varied. So
this was the fabled axe that she had willingly turned the grindstone to
sharpen. She had often heard Emmy privately refer to Blanche as
“boy-struck.” It was also generally known among the Hillside girls that
Blanche preferred the reading of sentimental fiction to study. It now
appeared as though she had introduced Romance into her own life with a
vengeance. For a long moment Ruth silently regarded the pouting features
of the narrator.

“It seems to me,” she said slowly, “that it was a good thing we did come
back that way. I am glad that none of the others saw you, though. You
haven’t been fair with me, Blanche, but I’m going to give you a chance
to be fair now. I want you to promise me that you will write to this
young man to-night, telling him that you cannot see him again while you
are here at the cottage.”

“But I can’t do that!” was the protesting cry. “He’d think me—”

“It’s not so much what _he_ may think as what others will surely think
of your deception,” broke in Ruth a trifle sharply. “In the first place,
you have disobeyed your mother. Then, too, you owe it to Miss Drexal to
write that letter. If you will write it, then I will agree to say
nothing of this to anyone, provided you keep your word. You must see for
yourself that you can’t go on meeting this young man outside the Heights
without being found out by someone else in the cottage. Anyway, I
wouldn’t allow you to do it. It wouldn’t be fair to you, or your mother,
or Miss Drexal. After you leave here to go to your own home, you are
free to do as you choose, so far as Miss Drexal is concerned. But not
until then. Why don’t you turn around and try to be a Camp Fire Girl in
earnest, Blanche? You are too young to be thinking so much about love
and all that nonsense,” Ruth entreated with sudden energy. “You’re just
a schoolgirl like the rest of us.”

Blanche continued to scowl, but said nothing. She was not in the mood
for advice. She was trying to decide which would be the lesser of two
evils. Much as she disliked the idea of writing the letter Ruth
demanded, she stood in far greater awe of Miss Drexal’s sure
disapproval, should the registrar learn what Ruth had accidentally
stumbled upon. She was also forced to admit to herself that Ruth’s logic
was sound.

“If I promise not to see Donald again while I’m up here, will you
promise not to write to my mother?” she sullenly compromised, as she
glanced at Ruth’s set features.

“I hadn’t intended that. I think you ought to be the one to tell her,
but not now. Wait until you go home from the reunion, then go to her
frankly. If she still objects to your fiancé, it is your duty to break
your engagement. Undoubtedly she knows what is wisest for you. If you
wrote her about it now, it would upset her dreadfully. She would be
likely to send for you to come home. I’d rather you’d stay and be one of
us, share our good times, and win a lot of Camp Fire honors.”

Ruth had a shrewd idea that once cut off from association with the youth
Blanche claimed engagement to, her interest in him would soon wane. She
guessed that the engagement was a sentimental schoolgirl and boy affair,
which had risen out of pure defiance of Mrs. Shirly’s wishes. Blanche
was far too selfish to be in love with anyone except Blanche. Then and
there Ruth resolved that before they left the Heights, she would somehow
win Blanche over to be as she had advocated, “a Camp Fire Girl in
earnest.”

“I’ll write to Donald to-night.” The promise came most reluctantly.

“I’m glad of that.” Ruth breathed a little relieved sigh. “Let’s shake
hands and forget the disagreeable part.” Although quite aware that the
promise had been unwillingly given, and the reference to Mrs. Shirly and
the Camp Fire baldly ignored, she thought it best to make no further
allusion to either. She would bide her time.

Very half-heartedly, Blanche laid a limp hand in Ruth’s. “Remember,
you’ve promised not to tell,” she muttered.

“I shall keep my word,” Ruth gravely assured. She refrained from adding
that she hoped Blanche would also stick to her agreement. She was fairly
sure of it, however. She knew that Blanche stood in wholesome fear of
exposure. “I must go,” she said, turning abruptly toward the door. She
was sincerely glad to conclude the unpleasant interview.

Mutely, Blanche watched the door close on her accuser. Though she would
not have admitted it to Ruth, she was not entirely sorry at the way
things had turned out. Ever selfish of her own comfort, the day’s
deception had entailed altogether too much trouble and worry to suit
her. During her frantic dash for shelter, she had half resolved not to
repeat it. Had the stubborn stand she had at first taken with Ruth been
wholly genuine, she would not have yielded so tamely. Nevertheless, she
was furious with Ruth for having interfered in her personal affairs. “I
suppose she thinks she’s done something wonderful,” was her scornful
comment as she seated herself before her mirror and moodily viewed her
reflection. “She’s a snippy little goody-goody. A Camp Fire Girl in
earnest!” she mimicked. “She’ll wait a long time for that to happen!”

                              CHAPTER XIII

                        THE ARRIVAL OF BLUE WOLF

During the busy week that followed, Blanche Shirly showed small
enthusiasm for the joyous outdoor life in which the Equitable Eight
reveled. She moped about the cottage, stolidly refusing to join the gay
bathing parties that usually heralded the beginning of the long
pleasure-filled days. She accompanied the Equitable Eight and Miss
Drexal on the several excursions into the woods, but exerted little
effort to gain the honors she still lacked to make her a Wood Gatherer.
It had not taken her companions long to realize that, for some unknown
reason, Blanche was sulking. Not daring to exhibit her open dislike
toward Ruth, she entered the seven others in her black books and treated
them all with a lofty indifference bordering on disdain.

It may be set down to their credit that they good-naturedly ignored her
sullenness, and tried so far as they could to interest her in their
daily round of fun. As Sarah had confidentially remarked to Jane, “We
expected Blanche would act like this, and now you see we haven’t been
disappointed.”

Ruth alone knew the true cause of Blanche’s moroseness. On the afternoon
following their talk, the latter had coldly informed her that the
promised letter had been written and delivered to the postman of the
Rural Free Delivery Route, who brought the mail each morning. Since then
little conversation had passed between them. Finding her friendly
overtures coolly rebuffed, Ruth was careful to treat Blanche exactly as
though nothing had happened, when in the presence of the others. Aside
from that, she prudently let her alone. She did not wish her companions
to discover that she was the real object of Blanche’s animosity. She was
afraid it might lead to pointed questions. Refusal to answer them would
be quite as embarrassing as to do so. She was earnestly trying to
protect Blanche from the displeasure of her own friends, whom she felt
would instinctively resent any churlish treatment of herself on
Blanche’s part.

Naturally straightforward, even kindly pretense came hard for Ruth.
There were times when she heartily wished she had not made the unlucky
discovery. Again she was glad of it. She was convinced, however, that
she had done right in keeping it a secret. Nevertheless the strain irked
her. It took its toll of her usual zest for enjoyment. More than once,
she reflected resentfully that it was hardly fair in Blanche not to meet
her halfway. The end of the week saw the breach between the two steadily
widening through no fault of Ruth’s. Saturday morning’s mail had brought
Blanche a scathing letter from an indignant young man, who accused her
of the double crime of not knowing her own mind and spoiling his summer.

She had anticipated some such reply and it made her very angry. She
promptly retaliated with an equally scathing letter to him, in which she
expressed herself as thankful to have found out his true character in
time and hoped she would never see him again. All of which proved
conclusively that Blanche was merely a very foolish young girl. In
consequence, she was particularly thorny all day, and so far forgot
caution as to fling several ill-natured remarks directly at Ruth, whom
she could not forgive for having “pried into her affairs.”

“What ails Blanche Shirly, anyway?” asked Jane Pellew disgustedly of
Betty and Anne as the three girls met in their room, preparatory to
going downstairs to dinner. “Did you hear her snap at Ruth when we were
out on the veranda this afternoon? After all the trouble Ruth has taken
for her, too!”

“Yes, I noticed it.” Betty frowned. “Ruth didn’t seem to mind, though.
Blanche has hardly treated any of us civilly, of late. I suppose she
doesn’t care much for our way of doing things. She certainly doesn’t
seem interested in Camp Fire work.”

“Then why did she come up here?” demanded Jane tartly. “She makes me
tired. She might better have gone with her mother to the sanatorium.
She’s a regular wet-blanket.”

“Give her time, Janie,” smiled Anne, unconsciously repeating Ruth’s own
words. “You can’t expect her to see things as we do all in a minute.
We’ve just got to keep on pretending we don’t notice her glum looks.
It’s—well—it’s a kind of experiment. If it turns out well in the end,
think how glad we’ll all be! Sooner or later, something will happen to
make Blanche wake up.”

“That’s what Ruth says, too, but I don’t agree with either of you,”
retorted Jane. “It’s awfully aggravating when one person in a jolly
crowd like ours isn’t with us in our fun. If Blanche keeps on sulking as
she has, I’ll tell her what I think of her. See if I don’t!”

“You mustn’t.” Betty shook a positive head. “Ruth wouldn’t like it. Do
as Anne says and pay no attention to Blanche’s moods. You know how she’s
always acted at Hillside. She and Jeanette Hayes are chums, yet they
were on bad terms half the time last year.”

“Thank goodness we’ve been spared Jeanette, at least,” grumbled Jane.
“There!” she continued, with a final pat to her fluffy brown locks. “I’m
ready for dinner. I’m going down to the veranda. See you later.”

Running lightly down the stairs, Jane passed out to the veranda.

“Where’s everybody?” was her question as she spied Frances comfortably
ensconced in the big porch swing.

“Why ask for ‘everybody’ when I am here?” counter-questioned Frances
blandly.

Jane elevated her nose, then giggled. Advancing upon the swing with
intent to seat herself beside Frances, her eyes lighted upon a strange
figure just leaving the road and about to cross the lawn.

“Oh!” she ejaculated in a half-frightened tone, and turning, fled into
the house.

Frances’ first inclination was to do likewise. Then she laughed.
Slipping from the swing, she walked sedately forward to greet the
newcomer, who had now reached the steps. Having been brought up on a
ranch, she was quite accustomed to the sight of Indians. She immediately
recognized the caller as an unusually fine specimen. At least six feet
tall, with dark, piercing eyes and high cheek bones, his long black hair
hanging in two braids over his shoulders, he looked every inch a
warrior. Unlike the majority of Indians she had seen, his attire
differed from theirs in that he still clung to the fringed deerskin
leggings. These, together with his long black braids and a rifle slung
across one shoulder, gave him the picturesqueness of the red man of
earlier days.

“How do you do?” greeted Frances affably. “I am sure you must be Blue
Wolf!”

“How do,” grunted the caller, surveying Frances stolidly. “Me Blue
Wolf.”

“Come up on the veranda and sit down,” she invited. “Miss Drexal has
been expecting you. Excuse me while I find her. She will be so pleased
to see you.”

“Thank!” commented Blue Wolf unemotionally. Though he accepted the
invitation onto the veranda, he remained standing, the picture of
stoical indifference.

Stifling the chuckle that bubbled to her lips, Frances disappeared into
the house in search of Miss Drexal. She bumped squarely against her in
the hall, for Jane had already fled to the living room with the dire
news that a “regular Indian war chief was coming straight for the
house!”

“It’s Blue Wolf!” gasped Frances.

“I thought as much.” Miss Drexal smilingly stepped to the door and onto
the veranda. “Why, how do you do, Blue Wolf?”

The Guardian’s voice had a friendly note as she offered her hand to her
caller.

A swift gleam of pleasure shot into the Indian’s piercing eyes. “How
do,” he returned. Setting his rifle carefully against the porch rail, he
gravely shook hands. “You well?”

“Very well, indeed, thank you. I have been looking for you since Friday.
You are just in time for dinner.”

Blue Wolf’s stern features relaxed into the shadow of a grin at this
hospitable news.

“Hungry,” he admitted. “Come far. From Vermillon Lake. Next week, you
ready, go there? Know good place camp. Find man in Tower who rent tents.
After dinner we talk about?”

“We surely will. Now come into the kitchen, and Martha will take care of
you. It’s very nice to see you again. Have you been hunting? I see you
have your rifle.”

“Hunt little; no much get. Too much game law.”

“I see.” Miss Drexal led the way into the house, her strange guest
stalking in her wake. Turning him over to Martha, who had furnished him
with many a meal, the registrar returned to the living room where an
excited bevy of girls awaited her. Ruth and Emmy were not among them.
Detailed as first aids to Martha, they had already been presented to the
famous old guide by Miss Drexal, and were at that very moment engaged in
viewing him slyly at close range. So far as he was concerned, they might
as well not have been in the kitchen. After gingerly shaking hands with
them, he had taken a stiff stand at one end of the kitchen and
vouchsafed them not so much as a glance from his sharp black eyes.

“He gave me an awful fright,” confessed Jane, during a brief lull in the
eager questions the girls had hurled at their hostess. “Isn’t he really
a bit fierce or savage?”

“Not a bit,” laughed Miss Drexal. “He is a splendid man and not at all
like the average Indian of to-day. As I have already told you, his
grandfather was a great Cheyenne chief, and Blue Wolf can tell you all
the most interesting traditions of the Cheyennes. Just now, he is out of
his element. Wait until he gets used to the idea of you girls; then he
will talk to you and become quite friendly in his proud, silent way. He
is a dependable guide, too. After dinner I will ask him to come into the
living room. I don’t imagine he will stay long to-night. I shall have to
find out what arrangements he has made for us. Perhaps we shall be able
to start on our trip within a day or two.”

This information elicited a chorus of gleeful cries. Even Jane had so
far forgotten her recent fright as to inquire eagerly: “How shall we act
when we’re introduced to Blue Wolf? Do we shake hands or just bow, or
what?”

“You may offer him your hand,” replied Miss Drexal, “but don’t any of
you dare to giggle. If you do, you will offend him. Be strictly on your
dignity with him at first. He will like that.”

The appearance of Emmy in the doorway announcing dinner brought to an
end the discussion of the proper way to receive Blue Wolf.

“Someone ought to warn Blanche not to behave like a refrigerator when
she meets him,” Sarah whispered wickedly to Frances as the party trooped
into the dining room.

“Where is she? In the kitchen with Ruth?”

“Not she,” murmured Sarah. “She hasn’t helped with a single meal since
she came. She’s upstairs sulking, I suppose, about goodness knows what.”

Frances answered with a discreet pressure of Sarah’s arm. Her roving
eyes had glimpsed Blanche descending the last step of the stairway. The
forbidding expression of the latter’s face quite bore out Sarah’s
theory. Seated beside Miss Drexal at the table, she received the news of
the arrival of the guide with marked indifference. Her sole disgruntled
comment was, “I have always heard that Indians are thieves and not to be
trusted.”

“Then Blue Wolf is the great exception,” laughed Ruth. “He looks too
proud and splendid for that. Emmy and I were taking sly peeps at him all
the time we were in the kitchen. He never noticed us, though.”

“Really, I am surprised.” Blanche lifted satiric eye-brows. “I am sure I
hope you won’t be disappointed in him.”

“No danger of that.” Ruth forced herself to ignore the spitefulness of
the speech, replying to it as pleasantly as though Blanche had paid her
a compliment. “Is there, Miss Drexal?” she appealed smilingly to her
hostess.

An almost imperceptible shade of displeasure crossed Miss Drexal’s fine
face. Blanche’s frequent stabs at Ruth during the past few days had not
been lost on her. “None whatever,” she assured with a placidity that
nevertheless contained a hint of the authoritative. “Blanche’s statement
that Indians have a reputation for thieving is quite correct, however.
Almost anyone living up here will tell you that. But, as Ruth says, Blue
Wolf is indeed the ‘great exception.’”

Finding herself politely worsted, Blanche relapsed into moody silence.
Nor did anyone at the table attempt to draw her into the merry talk,
which her sarcastic fling at Ruth had halted for a moment. Dinner over,
she rose with the others, but did not go with them into the living room
to meet the quaint guest. Instead, she made a bee-line for the stairs.
Called to the kitchen by Martha, Miss Drexal was unaware of this fact
until, a little later, Blue Wolf in tow, she entered the living room. In
the midst of introducing him to those of her flock who had yet to make
his acquaintance, she discovered that Blanche was missing.

“Where is Blanche?” she inquired.

“I saw her go upstairs.” It was Marian who answered. “Shall I—”

“I’ll go and get her.” Ruth darted from the room and up the stairs. All
in an instant she had decided that she had something to say to Blanche.
Arriving at her door which stood slightly ajar, she knocked. “Who is
there?” challenged a pettish voice.

For answer, Ruth swung open the door and boldly entered. “I came to tell
you that Miss Drexal would like you to join us in the living room,” she
announced. “She wants you to meet Blue Wolf.”

“I don’t want to meet a silly, old Indian!” Blanche sprang to her feet,
slamming the book she had evidently been reading on the table. “Why
can’t you let me alone, Ruth Garnier?” she demanded crossly. “I simply
won’t stand your tagging me around! Haven’t you spied on me enough?”

For once Ruth’s sorely tried patience slipped its leash. “You have no
right to accuse me of any such thing!” she cried out heatedly. “Since
you have, just let me tell you this, Blanche, you are acting very
foolishly! You’ve been perfectly hateful to me ever since we had that
talk. I’ve tried to pass it off, simply to keep the girls from guessing
at anything that might make them ask questions I couldn’t answer. I’m
sorry you can’t understand that I want to be your friend. I know you
believe that I’m only pretending. I’m not, but as long as you _will_
think that, I can’t make you see it differently. It hurts me, naturally,
to have you say rude things to me, but it hurts you a good deal more in
the eyes of the others. For your own sake, I wish you’d stop it!”

Her color high, Ruth wheeled and marched from the room. Halfway down
stairs, she recalled that she had volunteered to escort belligerent
Blanche to the living room. She paused, then went bravely back. “I think
you had better come down now,” she said coolly, halting in the doorway.

Blanche eyed her for a second, then to Ruth’s intense surprise replied
almost civilly, “All right.” Unbeknown to Ruth, she had made an
astounding discovery. Ruth Garnier actually had a temper! As she
followed the other girl’s fleeing footsteps down the stairs, she felt a
certain grudging respect for her that had hitherto been quite absent in
her estimation of Ruth’s character. And though neither of them could
possibly know it, it was the first milestone along the road to Blanche’s
better self.

                              CHAPTER XIV

                               THE START

The visit of Blue Wolf marked the beginning of pleasantly exciting days
at the Heights. As a caller, he could hardly be classed a social
success. The very sight of the bevy of bright-faced girls with their
merry ways and eager questions filled him with intense embarrassment. No
one but himself was aware of this, however. Outwardly, he preserved a
wooden dignity that was admirable to behold. True to Miss Drexal’s
prediction, he soon shook the dust of the living room from his restless
feet, and strode majestically out of the Heights to be swallowed up in
the soft summer darkness.

He appeared again the next morning for breakfast. Afterward, he and Miss
Drexal entered into solemn conclave in the living room regarding the
details of the proposed trip. It was well toward noon when he took leave
of her, entrusted with the funds necessary to secure camping equipment,
and to hire horses and a vehicle sufficiently large to accommodate the
party on their journey from the town of Tower to the borders of
Vermilion Lake, where they were to make camp.

At luncheon that day little else was talked of save the coming excursion
into the wilderness. Even Blanche Shirly exerted herself to ask a
question or two regarding it.

“Do tell us all about Vermilion Lake, Miss Drexal,” begged Sarah. “I
never heard of such a lake until I came up here.”

“I’m afraid the noble study of geography has been wasted on Sarah,” put
in Frances slyly.

“Do _you_ know where it is?” challenged Sarah.

“Somewhere around here,” fenced Frances airily.

“That answer shows just how much you know about it, which isn’t any more
than I do,” retorted Sarah with a derisive chuckle.

Miss Drexal met this spirited exchange of comments with an indulgent
smile. “There is a great deal to be told of Vermilion Lake,” she began.
“It lies about a hundred miles north of Duluth in the very center of the
iron district. In fact, iron was first found in Minnesota in the town of
Tower, which is situated on the lake itself. That happened in 1880, and
Tower was nothing then but a straggling settlement. Long before that
time, it was a trading post of the famous Hudson Bay Company. The
Indians used to come there from the north by a series of small
waterways, in canoes, which were usually loaded with furs. From there
they would pack their loads on sleds drawn by dogs, and go south by the
Old Vermilion Trail to Fond du Lac, at the head of Lake Superior. At the
time when iron was discovered, the few inhabitants of Tower used to walk
to Duluth. It took them four days to make the trip, and they went by way
of what they called a ‘tote’ road, cut through the woods.”

“Glad I wasn’t living in Tower in those days,” put in the irrepressible
Frances. “It was a long way to Duluth, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” agreed Jane. “Don’t interrupt Miss Drexal,” she added
severely.

“After iron was found, mining was started at Tower and the village
grew,” resumed the registrar. “Later, mining operations were transferred
to Jasper Rock, about two miles from Tower. By the way, Jasper Peak is
the highest elevation in Minnesota. At that, it is nothing but a ragged,
round hill. With the taking away of the mining interest, Tower stood
still. It is only within the last few years that it has begun to prosper
again on account of the building of two very large saw mills on the
shores of Vermilion Lake. That is about all I can say of Tower.

“Vermilion Lake is much more interesting. It is only about thirty-five
miles long as the bird flies, but it has so many unexpected twists and
turns that it is said to have almost eight hundred miles of shore line.
Then, too, it is thickly dotted with islands. I have been told that
altogether there are three hundred and fifty-five of them. Some, of
course, are so small as to measure only a few square yards. Others
comprise several thousand acres of woodland. Along the shores, the woods
are not so thick, due to lumbering and also forest fires. Blue Wolf
tells me that the place he has selected for our camp is quite heavily
wooded, however. It is about ten miles from Tower and we shall go there
by wagon. He is going to arrange for us to have two canoes, too, so we
can paddle about among the nearby islands as much as we please.”

An ecstatic sigh swept the listeners at this last information.

“Won’t it be glorious?” breathed Ruth. “I do hope Blue Wolf will teach
us canoeing. I’ve always been crazy to learn it.”

“So have I,” declared Betty and Marian in concert.

“I can manage a canoe,” proudly asserted Jane. “It’s as easy as falling
off a log.”

“I think I could manage to upset one,” grinned Frances. “When we get to
Vermilion Lake, Plain Jane, you and I will go canoeing and see what
happens.”

“I wouldn’t risk my precious self in a canoe with you, Frances Bliss,
for anything in the world!” declined Jane loftily.

“_I_ wouldn’t set foot in a canoe.” It was Blanche who made this
emphatic assertion. “They are never safe. It takes only a touch to upset
one.”

“They’re safe enough if you don’t try to stand up in one, and know how
to step into it in the first place,” stoutly contested Jane.

“_You_ may think so, but _I_ don’t,” persisted Blanche tartly.

“I don’t _think_ so, I _know_ it.” Jane could never resist an
opportunity to oppose Blanche.

“I shall expect all of you to be very careful when on the water,”
cautioned Miss Drexal. “You must promise not to take the canoes out,
unless Blue Wolf is on hand to look after you. The passages between the
islands are very narrow and confusing. You are likely to get lost if you
try to go far alone. Now we had best decide about our luggage. We shall
wear our Camp Fire suits, and each carry a pack, containing only
strictly necessary articles. We will put all our extra clothing into a
large trunk of mine, and send it on to be put with our other equipment.
I would advise you to carry your sweaters along with your packs. We will
pack our ceremonial dresses in the trunk, in case we wish to hold a
Council Fire. We shall make our own bough-beds and cover them with
blankets.

“As this is Sunday, we will not do any packing. To-morrow morning we
will pack the trunk and also a box of cooking utensils. The blankets can
go in on top of them. I will ’phone to Lakeview for an expressman, and
have them shipped to Tower. Blue Wolf will be there when they arrive to
look after them, and see that they are put with the other equipment.
Everything will go ahead on a separate wagon to our camping site, and be
there before we arrive.

“My plan is to start at sunrise Wednesday morning and walk to Lakeview.
We will take our time, and eat an early luncheon on the way. From there
we can take the train to Duluth, spend the night there and go by railway
to Tower on Thursday morning. By that time, Blue Wolf will be ready for
us. We can lunch at a hotel and start by one o’clock for our camp,
reaching it before supper time.”

Miss Drexal’s outline of their journey met with noisy approval. Sunday
seemed a long day to the impatient girls. They were not sorry when nine
o’clock in the evening came round, and unanimously voted for an early
bed-time. Eager as they were to be off to pastures new, the next three
days were filled with a delightful stir of preparation that sent them
slipping by with incredible swiftness. Under Miss Drexal’s competent
direction, they made up the light packs each was to carry. Ruth, Marian
and Emmy proved themselves particularly adept at this. Jane, however,
packed and unpacked and repacked with much sputtering, while Sarah and
Frances looked on with derisive enjoyment.

Wednesday’s sun rose bright and hot on a sturdy little procession that
started jauntily down the road to Lakeview, waving frantic farewells to
Martha. She had stolidly refused to accompany them, declaring that
nothing could hire her to go tramping about through woods and swamps,
let alone sleeping on the damp ground. During their absence, she had
elected to visit a sister living in Lakeview, who was to come for her
with a horse and buggy at noon that day.

Yet, in that merry company, there was one face that did not reflect the
radiant happiness that shone from the eyes of her companions. Blanche
Shirly took the road to Lakeview, a most unsmiling hiker. Ever since
Ruth had so plainly outlined to her her position, she had been racking
her brain for some excuse to leave the Heights. After long and gloomy
consideration, she had been obliged to give up in despair. She was
fairly caught in a trap of her own making. Nor was she resourceful
enough to devise a way of release. Then, too, her conscience had begun
to trouble her a little. Something in Ruth’s ringing tones had lingered
in her ears, and given her a vague sense of her own failings, which was
entirely new to her and very disquieting. She had vowed to herself that
she would do nothing that might please Ruth, no matter what happened.
Ruth would have to learn that there was one person at least whom she
could not wind around her finger. Back of her resentment, however,
lurked a faint interest in the camping expedition which she could not
quite root out. Though she did not know it, she had a girl’s capacity
for enjoying the new and the unusual. After years of constant
artificiality, she was beginning to wonder dimly if, after all, these
girls, whom she scorned as babies, were not really getting more out of
life than she.

                               CHAPTER XV

                    BLUE WOLF DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF

“There it is! I see it!” rang out Sarah Manning’s triumphant cry, as she
pointed excitedly to a glimmer of white among the thick growth of spruce
trees. “I saw it first! Hurrah for me!”

Sarah’s modest proposal fell on deaf ears. For the past five minutes,
the load of cheery adventurers who packed the big buckboard wagon had
been keeping a vigilant watch on the narrow road ahead. Perched in state
beside the driver, Sarah had forestalled them by the merest second. Her
last words mingled unheard with the gleeful shout that rent the still
woodland air. The driver of the buckboard, a long, lean native of Tower,
grinned indulgently as the shout assailed his ears. “Ye’ll hev to git
out here, lady,” he informed Miss Drexal over one shoulder as he brought
his horses to a gradual standstill. “I can’t drive no nearer your camp
than this. It ain’t but a step to it.”

“Very well.” Before he had accomplished a leisurely descent from the
wagon, his lively freight was already piling out over its sides. After
ten miles of travel over a rough corduroy road in a swaying buckboard,
the end of the journey was most welcome. Despite the wild beauty of the
country through which they had been riding, the thought of reaching camp
had overtopped all else. The very fact that they were presently to come
upon the forest home already prepared for them by their Indian guide,
had kept the whole party in a flutter of eager anticipation from their
very start from Tower.

“Oh, there’s Blue Wolf! Hoo-oo!” Ruth’s clear halloo, accompanied by a
wild flourish of her arm, created a ripple of laughter. Drawn up in a
group beside the road, the girls stood impatiently waiting for Miss
Drexal, who was still busy talking to the driver.

“Oh, see!” gasped Jane. “He actually waved his hand to you, Ruth! He’s
not so wooden as he seems. Here he comes. He looks too fierce for
comfort, though. You’d think him a regular savage scalp hunter on the
war path.”

“Shh!” warned Frances. “Don’t laugh, girls, or he will think you are
making fun of him. Indians are awfully touchy.”

This bit of caution chased away the smiles evoked by Jane’s criticism.
By the time Blue Wolf reached them, they were ready to greet him with
due solemnity.

“Camp him ready,” he remarked after he had gravely shaken hands all
around. “Heap nice place.” His bright eyes fixed themselves on Ruth, as
though he were seeking her especial approval.

“I am sure it is,” Ruth smiled winningly. “You must have worked very
hard to get the tents up and everything in shape for us.”

“I work,” admitted Blue Wolf.

Having finished her business with the driver, who had already begun
backing his horses, preparatory to turning back to Tower, Miss Drexal
now joined the group, greeting the Indian in kindly fashion.

“You come now, see camp,” he invited after she had asked him a question
or two. Striding ahead, he led the campers across a few yards of ground,
well covered with trees and bushes, to a little natural clearing where
two good-sized tents stood out whitely against the tall spruces and
tamaracks that surrounded them on all sides.

“But where’s Vermilion Lake?” cried out Emmy wonderingly, as they came
to a halt in front of the tents.

“Over there. No very far. No can see him. Too much tree.” Blue Wolf
indicated the location of the lake with a sweep of his hand. “To-morrow,
I take you see him.”

“To-morrow will be time enough,” declared Miss Drexal. “It is after four
o’clock now. Remember, we are going to gather the boughs for our beds.
After that is done and we have made them, it will be supper time. First
of all, we must arrange about our tent quarters. How shall we divide the
party? There will be five of us to each tent. We will put the trunk of
clothing in one tent and the box of kitchen utensils in the other. When
the weather is good, we will eat our meals in the open. When it rains,
we shall have to use one of the tents.”

“As long as we are a just and equitable band, I don’t see that it makes
much difference how we are divided,” laughed Marian.

The others instantly agreeing with her, Miss Drexal proposed that Jane,
Frances, Sarah, Betty and Anne take one tent, leaving Ruth, Emmy,
Marian, Blanche and herself to occupy the other. “Blue Wolf tells me
that he has built himself a little shack of bark halfway between here
and the lake. At night, he will be within easy reach of us if we should
call out, and also be near the canoes,” she explained. “Now, girls,
suppose we take possession at once. Leave your packs in your tents, and
let us get to work on our beds. The sooner they are made, the earlier we
can have supper.”

“I could eat it right now,” sighed Sarah. “I’m almost starved.”

The long ride in the bracing air having had a similar effect on her
companions, the girls hastened to obey Miss Drexal’s directions. Fifteen
minutes later, they were following the Indian’s tireless feet through
the woods on a hunt for the necessary materials for their makeshift
couches. They had not traveled far when they stumbled upon a pleasant
surprise. With the nearest approach to a grin that his somber features
would permit, Blue Wolf stopped beside two huge heaps of fragrant green
pine and balsam boughs, which it had taken him the greater part of the
morning to secure.

“Plenty bed here,” he announced, a note of grim pride in his voice at
his own achievement.

“I should say so,” chuckled Frances. “There’s enough stuff on these two
piles for twenty beds. Talk about your busy little workers,” she added
under her breath to Ruth, “Blue Wolf is the star of them all.”

Amid exclamations of gratified delight, the foresters pounced avidly
upon the fruits of the Indian’s labor. Under his direction, they first
piled their arms with the spicy boughs and set off for the tents in high
spirits. Prior to their arrival, Blue Wolf had already laid the
foundations in the tents for the bough beds. These consisted of five
inch tree trunks about six feet in length. Each set of two had been laid
parallel about four feet apart. They ranged two on a side with only a
foot’s space between them, with one pair of logs at the back.

The art of building a bough bed was not an unfamiliar one to the
Equitable Eight. They had mastered it the previous summer when they had
camped for a week in the Catskills. They, therefore, set to work with a
will, breaking off the boughs to a suitable length and sticking them
into the soft earth, tops uppermost and as close together as possible.
The result of this process was a series of fragrant green mounds. On top
of these more boughs were placed, so carefully as to allow no sharp ends
to stand up. Covered by heavy blankets, folded double, they became
couches that were not only comfortable, but also sturdy enough to
warrant no breakdown.

Of the ten toilers, Blanche Shirly was the only one who failed to do
herself credit. She made a half-hearted attempt to follow Miss Drexal’s
instructions, then slumped in the middle of her task and looked
helplessly on while Marian and Anne, their own work completed,
good-naturedly rallied to her assistance and completed her bed for her.

Aside from the beds, the tents held nothing in the way of furniture
except the trunk, a huge box for food supplies, and the box of kitchen
things. Blue Wolf had thoughtfully pounded nails into the lower ridge
plate of the tents. On some of these the girls hung their packs,
reserving others on which to hang their clothing at night. They were
wholly content with their quarters, however. It quite accorded with
their ideas of living the primitive life. All except Blanche, of course.
She was inwardly wondering how she could manage to endure such
discomfort. She was also a wee bit abashed at her own helplessness. It
galled her to have to appear so entirely out of her element. Yet her
grudge against Ruth still forbade her to show the least inclination
toward a usefulness which Ruth might note and approve.

Their beds made, Emmy, Ruth and Marian devoted themselves to building a
low fire in which to roast potatoes. Miss Drexal and Anne commenced a
businesslike unpacking of cooking utensils. Sarah, Jane and Frances
delved among the supplies with much playful squabbling. To Betty fell
the work of selecting a level spot on which to lay the tablecloth, and
decking it with the necessary, but limited amount of dishes and cutlery.
To her had also been entrusted the coffee-making. Blue Wolf had already
set off for a nearby spring with the two water pails. Blanche alone
found nothing to do. After wandering aimlessly about without offering to
help anyone, she retired disgustedly to the tent and lay down on her
bed, anxiously waiting to be called to supper. Whatever might be her
failings, lack of appetite was not one of them.

Due to the length of time it had taken to get supper nicely started, it
was after six o’clock when the hungry band seated themselves Turk
fashion on the ground about the sylvan board, and hungrily devoured a
supper of white bread, roasted potatoes, crisp bacon, steaming coffee,
canned beans, warmed over, with canned peaches and fancy crackers by way
of dessert.

“What are we going to do when our bread gives out?” asked Sarah,
reflectively crumbling a cracker. “We had only six loaves to start with.
I know because I unpacked them.”

“Make corn cakes, of course,” was Jane’s prompt information. “Didn’t you
see that nice fat bag of corn meal? I’m going to bake some myself for
supper to-morrow night. I wasn’t brought up in the South for nothing.
Mayn’t I, Miss Drexal?”

“Yes, if you like. You and I will initiate the rest of the girls into
the corn cake mystery. We shall have to depend on our corn meal a good
deal. Blue Wolf will, of course, go to Tower twice a week, by canoe, for
supplies. Even so, we shan’t be able to keep much bread on hand. It
dries too quickly.”

“By the way, where is his majesty?” asked Emmy. “He certainly must be
good and hungry after all he’s done to-day.”

“He will eat his supper when we have finished. Nothing would induce him
to lend his august presence to this chattering crowd,” smiled Miss
Drexal. “I suppose he is down by the lake hovering about his beloved
canoes. He made both of them, and insisted that we should make use of
them.”

“Then we ought to do something nice for him,” declared Ruth. “Let’s
clean off the table and set a place for him. One of us can put his
supper on the table for him, while two of us go after him and escort him
to the feast. That is, unless you think he mightn’t like it.” She
glanced inquiringly at the Guardian.

“It would probably please him, though I doubt if he would show any
outward signs of it.” Miss Drexal looked mildly amused.

“I’ll go with you, Ruth,” volunteered Frances. “On the way I’ll think up
a polite little verse of invitation to hurl at him. Let me see. How
would this sound:

             “Blue Wolf, kind Blue Wolf,
             Your supper is spread
             With nice beans and bacon
             And peaches and bread.
             So run to the table as fast as you can,
             And gobble your eats like a good little man!”

“He’ll probably jump straight into the lake,” giggled Sarah. “If we hear
a grand splash, we’ll know what happened.”

“Wait till you hear it.” Frances scrambled to her feet. “Come on, Ruth.”

Amid a volley of teasing remarks, the two girls swung off in the
direction of Blue Wolf’s little shack. The last rays of the setting sun
made it still light enough in the woods for them to pick an easy course
in and out among the trees. Spying the Indian seated beside one of the
two graceful canoes, drawn up on the bank at the water’s edge, Ruth
steered a course directly toward him.

“Your supper is ready, Blue Wolf. We came on purpose to tell you,” she
announced cheerily.

The Indian straightened up with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box,
then rose to his feet. Ruth thought she caught a fleeting gleam of
gratification in his black eyes. “Thank,” he muttered with a jerky
little nod. “You very good come tell me.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Ruth briskly assured. “May we look at the
canoes? Aren’t they beautiful, graceful things, though?” Stepping over
to one of them, she passed an admiring hand along its rough bark side.
“You made them both, didn’t you? It’s perfectly wonderful, I think.”

“I teach you an’ you.” The final “you” was for Frances. “You make canoe,
too. I show,” offered the guide gravely.

This brought a little squeal of pure delight from the lips of both
girls.

“Could we really make one ourselves?” Ruth clasped her hands with joy of
the possibility.

“I help you make him,” repeated Blue Wolf positively. “To-morrow find
tree. Cut him down. You see.”

“It will be splendid,” beamed Ruth. “Now we must go back to the others.
You’d better come, too, while your supper’s still hot.”

Without a word the Indian followed sedately in their wake, as the two
turned back to camp. Recalling Sarah’s prediction of a “grand splash,”
Ruth smiled to herself. Far from launching her verse at Blue Wolf,
Frances had been mute, save for the single exclamation arising from the
guide’s offer.

Though she did not know it, Ruth had already risen to a high place in
the Indian’s esteem. From the first, her frank, sunshiny smile and
cheery voice had not been lost on the shrewd old man. Next to Miss
Drexal, he had singled her out as being particularly worthy of his
faithful service. Emmy and Anne he respectfully admired from afar, by
reason of their undeniable good looks. Next to Ruth, he approved of
Marian’s quiet, dependable ways. Betty’s eyeglasses and dignity awed
him. Jane, Frances and Sarah he did not understand in the least, while
for Blanche he had conceived instant dislike. He had been quick to pick
her out as a shirker, and the one discordant element in the otherwise
happy flock.

Crouched over his supper, his keen eyes frequently traveled from his
food to where the Equitable Eight were busily engaged in piling up the
fuel for a mammoth camp fire. By the time he had finished eating, they
had fanned it to a ruddy blaze and seated themselves in a circle about
it. Carefully piling up the empty dishes, he set off for the lake to
wash them. Returning, he placed them in a neat pile before one of the
tents, and seating himself in its shadow, curiously watched the animated
group about the fire. The steady murmur of young voices, broken by
continuous peals of laughter, brought a flicker of grim enjoyment to his
stolid features, though he had not the faintest idea of what it was all
about.

As it happened, Frances had decreed that each in turn should relate the
most ridiculous thing she had ever done. With every recital their mirth
grew wilder. Even Blanche Shirly so far forgot her grievances as to
contribute a really funny little account of having once misdirected her
Christmas gifts to the extent of mailing a lace breakfast cap to a
finicky uncle and a briarwood pipe to a dear old lady who was naturally
deeply offended. Happening to catch Ruth’s merry eye, Blanche at once
retired into her shell. For once she had been caught off her guard. She
had not intended to relax the bored pose she was so fond of assuming,
yet she was finding it harder to maintain with each hour spent in camp.

Spying Blue Wolf huddled in the shadows, Ruth whispered to Miss Drexal
to ask him to join the circle. Rather to the Guardian’s surprise, he
accepted the invitation and stalked silently into their midst, seating
himself beside Ruth. In the flickering glow of the firelight, he
presented the last picturesque touch needed. He seemed the very spirit
of the Camp Fire come to life for the occasion.

With a view toward entertaining him, the girls sang several of their
most tuneful Camp Fire songs. Later, Emmy thrilled them with the wonder
of her golden voice. She had just ended an exquisite little French song,
which was a particular favorite with her friends, when an astonishing
thing happened. Rising, the Indian announced with proud solemnity: “I
sing for you one song my people. We call him Aotzi No-otz. Long ago
Cheyenne fight. Slay many enemies. Their warriors come back, faces all
black ashes. Take heap scalps. Sing loud this to Indian he no fight.
Paint the face red. Stay behind.”

With this somewhat sketchy explanation, Blue Wolf raised a sudden weird
wailing cry of, “Ya he ya ye he—hai yai!” that echoed on the still night
air, and sent delicious creepy thrills up and down the spines of the
listeners. As he sang on, they could almost visualize the war party of
savages, their faces hideously blackened with ashes, the dripping scalps
of their enemies dangling at their belts, as they flung their bitter
taunt of victory in the faces of the cowards of their tribe. The chant
ended with a wild: “I hai yu hai yu!” that caused the spell-bound
audience to cast furtive glances toward the blackness of the brooding
forest, as though they half expected to see a band of blood-thirsty
Cheyennes come whooping from its depths and pounce upon them.

A deep silence reigned for a moment afterward. Then Blue Wolf was
assailed by eager pleas for another song. He could not be prevailed upon
to sing again, however, though he grunted the grudging promise, “Sing
him some day, mebbe.” Nor did he reseat himself before the fire, but
bidding them a brief good night, strode away through the darkness.

It was not long afterward until the circle broke up. After a vigorous
beating out of the fire there followed a willing march to bed. It had
been a strenuous day, and the tired foresters were quite ready to try
the virtue of their bough beds. Ruth had confessed to being dreadfully
sleepy, but once settled for the night, slumber refused to chain down
her eyelids. From where she lay, she could look out through the narrow
gap in the tent flaps and glimpse the outdoors as a dark shadowy mass.
Her mind reviewing the day’s events, Blanche Shirly’s one effort toward
amiability stood out so clearly as to cause her to breathe a soft sigh
of satisfaction. She wondered if it really heralded the dawn of
Blanche’s better self. It had been but a mere flash. Immediately
afterward she had dropped back into her old aggravating attitude, yet,
somehow, Ruth could not help feeling that Blanche _had_ taken a step
forward.

                              CHAPTER XVI

                       A DISCOURAGED TORCH BEARER

The first week at Wohelo Wigwam, as the girls had named their camp,
slipped by with incredible rapidity. Up with the dawn, they found the
long sunny days entirely too short for the countless pleasures to be
enjoyed in their woodland home. Vermilion Lake was a never-ending source
of joy to them. Every morning found them out in the canoes and paddling
up and down the portion of the lake nearest their camp. Under Blue
Wolf’s efficient instruction, they were becoming fairly skillful
canoeists.

With the second day in camp, Miss Drexal had wisely allotted to each
girl a certain amount of camp work to be performed. Six o’clock had been
the hour set for rising, and, promptly at six, the Guardian sounded the
reveille call on a bugle which she had brought along for that very
purpose. As she had been a bugler in one of the first Camp Fire groups
to spend a summer in the open, she was familiar with the various calls
used by the Army. Her flock hailed this bit of military procedure with
acclamation. According to Sarah, it was “positively thrilling” to hear
“Taps” fall sweetly on the summer air at ten o’clock each evening. She
agreed with Jane, however, that “reveille” was not half so inspiring.

Thus far, they had made only short jaunts through the adjoining woods,
content to keep fairly near to camp at first in order to explore their
immediate surroundings. On these occasions Wohelo Wigwam was left to
take care of itself. Owing to the fact that the canoes held comfortably
only three persons, the party took turns in making voyages to the
various nearby islands in the lake. With Blue Wolf as chief navigator,
from three to five girls usually accompanied him, leaving the rest in
camp. Ruth proving herself more adept at the paddle than her friends,
she was constantly in demand, although Marian was rapidly becoming a
close second.

True to his word, the Indian had ranged the woods for a suitable tree
from which to fashion a canoe. It had required considerable searching to
find one of sufficient size and straightness. His object was to secure,
if possible, a single strip of bark that would extend the entire length
of the canoe he purposed to make. The tree which he finally found was
admirably suited to his project. Whenever not required by Miss Drexal,
he was invariably to be seen squatted in front of his shack, his wiry
fingers engaged in skillfully stripping the bark from his prize. Eager
to do their part, Ruth and Frances also tried their hand at bark
stripping. Blue Wolf firmly declined, however, to allow them to
experiment on the tree he had chosen. Instead, he put them to work on a
smaller tree, bluntly informing them, “You try cut him little tree! You
spoil him, no matter. Heap more me get. Big tree you spoil, never I find
again ’nother mebbe.”

Determined to do credit to their teacher, the two girls devoted
themselves so industriously to their trial tree as to have the proud
pleasure of at least furnishing the extra strips of bark which had to be
added on each side to make the canoe sufficiently broad. Under his eagle
eye they also helped to sew the seams with balsam roots, and assisted in
daubing them with a black mixture of spruce gum and cedar ashes to
render them water tight.

Had the Indian devoted himself solely to the work of fashioning the
canoe, he could have finished it in five days. As it was, the end of
their second week in the woods was upon them before he pronounced it
ready for its first voyage. It was late on Friday afternoon, when a
jubilant group collected at the edge of the lake to watch its trial
trip. When the shapely canoe finally shot out on the placid water, under
the guide’s practical hands, he received the ovation of his life. After
thoroughly testing it, he brought it ashore and gravely invited Miss
Drexal to become his first passenger. When she returned, Ruth and
Frances were accorded the honor of the next trip and so on, until every
girl, even to Blanche, had tested its merits. Considering her recent
scathing denunciation of canoes in general, her companions were secretly
amused at her apparent willingness to trust herself in one of them.

Blanche had her own reasons, however, for her change of mind. She was
well aware that Blue Wolf took particular pains to keep out of her way.
If she addressed him, he answered briefly and with no show of interest.
With the others, he had grown quite friendly in his reserved, stately
fashion. The canoe having been the chief center of importance since he
had commenced its making, Blanche was not anxious to incur his fresh
disapproval by refusing to try it. She therefore told herself scornfully
she would at least show this “stupid Indian” that she was no coward.
Back of this was also a slowly growing desire to “be in things.” Far
removed from the artificial mode of living which she had ever held as
all-important, the magic spell of the great outdoors was beginning to
make itself felt.

She was no longer so entirely satisfied with herself as when she had
first come to the Heights. Her ignorance of wood lore placed her at a
decided disadvantage. Long accustomed to having her own way, it piqued
her not a little to be a mere follower rather than a leader. Dislike for
Ruth made her particularly envious of the former’s woodsman-like
qualities. Miss Drexal herself frequently consulted Ruth regarding their
various expeditions. This was as a thorn to Blanche’s flesh. It aroused
in her a desire to do something remarkable that would redound to her own
credit. To plod patiently along and win her honors for Wood Gatherer did
not appeal to her. That would merely please Ruth, whom she wished to
thwart whenever possible. She longed to do something especially clever
that would place her in the front rank of popularity at a single bound.

Though her motive was ignoble, it was at least ambitious. Under her
still languid pose, she began to keep an alert watch for the coveted
opportunity. Should a sudden emergency arise which called for quick
action or high courage, Blanche resolved that she would be first to
grasp it, if only to show her superiority over Ruth.

With the completion of the canoe, the campers immediately made plans to
explore in a body one of the larger islands of the lake, several miles
distant. Blue Wolf had spoken of it to Ruth, who, impressed by his terse
description of its beauty, had at once begged Miss Drexal that a
canoeing party be gotten up with it as an objective.

Half past seven o’clock, on a cloudless Saturday morning, saw the
dwellers of Wohelo Wig-wam setting jauntily off toward the lake, their
packs slung over their shoulders. They were in high spirits as they
tramped through the bit of woods to the lake shore, for the thought of
invading fresh territory had fired their enthusiasm. Miss Drexal had
demurred a little at leaving their camp with no one at home, but Blue
Wolf had phlegmatically assured her: “When come back, camp him here,
just same. No one see. No one steal. No one do nothing.”

In charge of the expedition, he was to pilot his crew to the island,
land and leave them there for the day, while he turned about and paddled
to Tower on his semi-weekly trip for supplies. In the late afternoon, a
little before sunset, he was to return for them and see them safely back
to camp. The problem of seating eleven persons in three canoes having
been thoroughly discussed on the previous evening, it had been decided
that for once a little crowding would be necessary. The canoe which the
Indian had made was large enough to hold four persons. Four squeezed
into one of the other two, and three in its mate, made a satisfactory
division.

“You had best place us as you think wise, Blue Wolf,” directed Miss
Drexal. “I would rather trust to your judgment. Girls, you must sit very
still. Crowded as we shall be, the least touch is likely to capsize the
canoes. Is the water very deep?” she asked, again addressing the Indian.

“Ugh! Heap deep, most way,” grunted the guide. His eyes roving
reflectively over the group on the shore, he pointed to Ruth. “You smart
girl. You paddle heap good. You take she an’ she an’ she.” He rapidly
designated Blanche, Frances and Jane. “I take she an’ she an’ she.” He
selected Emmy, Anne and Betty as his cargo. Marian was his choice of
commandant for the third canoe, which left Sarah and Miss Drexal to go
with her. He further selected Frances to help Ruth paddle, and accorded
Betty the proud honor of assisting himself. Miss Drexal was to be
Marian’s helper.

Reserving the launching of his own canoe until the last, he busied
himself with starting off first Marian’s and then Ruth’s. The first
principle of canoeing consists in knowing how to board one of the
too-easily swamped little boats. By light and careful stepping, the
girls managed to stow themselves into their limited quarters without
mishap. The last to shove off from shore, Blue Wolf sent his canoe ahead
of the others with a few practiced strokes of the paddle. Marian swung
in close behind him. Ruth brought up the rear, and the little procession
was soon well out of sight of the deserted camp and merrily following
their leader along the tortuous course which gives Vermilion Lake so
many miles of shore line.

So far as the old guide was concerned, he could not have selected a more
amiable trio of passengers. It was quite possible that he knew it. Urged
by Anne and Betty, it was not long before Emmy’s lovely voice was
sending its exquisite sweetness over the sunlit water.

“How beautiful Emmy’s singing sounds,” remarked Ruth, resting her paddle
for an instant to listen. Her glance falling on Blanche, who sat facing
her in the bottom of the canoe, she smiled brightly, hoping to dispel
the deep frown that had been in evidence on the other girl’s face since
they had started. Blanche merely stared at her. An involuntary word of
caution from Ruth as she had stepped into the canoe had added to her
resentment at being placed temporarily under Ruth’s charge. Refusing to
answer, she sulkily turned her head and began trailing one hand in the
water. Slight though the movement was it set the frail shell rocking a
trifle.

The smile faded from Ruth’s face as she resumed paddling. It was always
the same. No matter how pleasantly she tried to treat Blanche, she was
invariably rebuffed by cool or sullen glances. It was quite evident that
Blanche had not forgotten, nor would she ever forgive her.

“You’d better not do that, Blanche.” Jane’s crisp tones broke up Ruth’s
gloomy reverie.

“Do what?” Blanche made no effort to desist from her perilous pastime.
Instead she leaned toward the hand she was trailing with an angry little
jerk.

“Look out! You’ll have us all overboard!” Frances expostulated, raising
her paddle, in quick alarm. Seated in the end of the canoe that faced
Ruth, she cast the latter an appealing glance.

Ruth caught her breath sharply, then reluctantly added her plea of, “I’m
afraid it isn’t quite safe, Blanche. You see—”

“I see that you girls are simply trying to be horrid to me!” interrupted
Blanche furiously. Bringing up her hand from the lake with wrathful
force, she overbalanced herself and swung heavily to the opposite side.
Ruth’s sharp call, “Lean the other way!” alone saved them from disaster.
With a sudden lurch, the canoe righted itself.

“I told you so,” snapped Jane, thoroughly incensed. “Only for Ruth we’d
have gone straight into the lake. For goodness sake, sit still, Blanche,
the rest of the way. I’m not anxious for a ducking even if you are.”

“Don’t think for a minute you can order _me_ about, Jane Pellew!”
stormed Blanche. “I won’t stay here and be treated like a child. Put me
ashore,” she haughtily commanded Ruth. “I’ll find my way back to camp.”

“I can’t do that,” refused Ruth quietly. “Miss Drexal wouldn’t allow it.
Don’t be cross, Blanche,” she made impetuous appeal. “We mustn’t quarrel
this beautiful morning. As long as we weren’t upset—”

“I _said_ ‘put me ashore,’” reiterated Blanche icily. “Are you going to
do it?”

“No.” Ruth measured her angry vis-a-vis with a cool, level glance, then
sent the canoe forward with a will. Their near-accident had left them
some distance behind the others. Though she had kept her temper, Ruth’s
paddle dipped and rose with an almost fierce energy. Never, since
Blanche had joined them, had Ruth felt such exasperation against the
ill-natured guest. She was quite ready to wash her hands of the whole
reform movement.

Naturally, the disagreement put a damper on the quartette, as is always
the case when one of a number is bent on being unamiable. Following
Ruth’s “No!” Blanche had relapsed into formidable silence. Jane and
Frances still continued to chatter to each other and to Ruth, yet all
three were nettled over the fact that discord had arisen at the very
outset of their voyage.

The sun was high in the heavens when the flotilla made harbor on a
heavily-wooded shore of the island of their choice. Dark masses of
tamarack, pine and spruce trees rose, grim and majestic, almost to the
lake’s edge. This time they had truly reached the forest primeval. A
hush pervaded the island, that suddenly stilled the voices of the
landing party.

“It’s like an enchanted forest, isn’t it?” murmured Anne as, helped
ashore by the Indian, she breathed deeply of the spicy air.

“We’ll have to blaze our own trails, I guess,” declared Betty, peering
speculatively toward the unbroken ranks of forest kings, reigning long
undisturbed in their towering might.

“We won’t dare go very far inland without Blue Wolf,” demurred Emmy.
“We’d be likely to get lost. It’s too bad he can’t stay here to-day,
instead of having to leave us to the mercy of the wilds.”

“Here’s our chance to be good woodsmen,” laughed Anne. “This time we’ve
a real forest to practice in.”

“All safe ashore!” broke in Ruth’s cheery tones. Disdaining the Indian’s
hand, she had made a nimble spring to terra-firma, calling out just as
the guide landed Frances, the last to leave her canoe.

“It’s a wonder we are,” muttered Jane, who stood at her elbow.

“Don’t say anything about what happened to us,” warned Ruth in an
undertone.

“I won’t go back in the same canoe with her,” protested Jane in low,
vehement tones. “She spoiled our whole trip. We all made a big mistake
in not saying ‘No’ when she first wanted to come to our reunion.”

For once Ruth was tempted to concur with Jane. She was beginning to
believe that their kindly effort toward Blanche had been ill-advised.
They had not succeeded in helping her, and there seemed small prospect
that they ever would. The light that she had hoped to pass on undimmed
to Blanche seemed in a fair way to flicker out.

                              CHAPTER XVII

                      RUTH DELIVERS HER ULTIMATUM

“Do you think you can go to Tower and return here before sunset, Blue
Wolf?” There was a dubious inflection in Miss Drexal’s voice, as she
addressed her question to the guide.

“Go alone, go fast,” assured the Indian. “Come back plenty time ’fore
him sundown. You walk around island, any place. No ’fraid. You get lost,
me find. Me know him. Now go quick an’ come back.” Suiting the action to
the word, he made a lithe spring into his canoe and prepared to push off
from shore.

“We’ll all be here when you come for us,” predicted Ruth gaily. “Such
good foresters as we can be trusted to find our way anywhere.”

Blue Wolf met this sally with an approving “Ugh!” Then the canoe shot
through the placid water, alive under his practiced hands.

“We might as well eat luncheon and have it over with,” said Miss Drexal,
as the watchers on the bank lost sight of the guide around a bend.
“Shall we eat it here, or have it in the woods?”

“This seems to be a good enough place,” commented Marian. “We can gather
enough dry wood right around here for a fire to make the coffee. As long
as we haven’t brought much except sandwiches, sweet crackers and fruit,
it won’t take long to get it ready. Only one thing is needed—water.”

“There’s a little spring just back in the woods,” informed Emmy. “Blue
Wolf told us about it, didn’t he, Betty? He landed us here so we’d be
near it.”

“Let’s all go and look for it,” proposed Sarah. “I’m terribly thirsty.”

“Now that you mention it, Sarey, so am I,” beamed Frances. “Lead us to
it, Emmy, provided you know how. I’m going to leave my pack here, and
take only my drinking cup.”

Frances’ announcement caused a general shedding of packs. Each forester
being provided with the individual collapsible drinking cup, Emmy and
Betty headed the procession to the spring, Miss Drexal alone electing to
remain behind. Ruth brought up the rear with a good-sized white enamel
pitcher, which was to hold the water necessary to the coffee-making.

Less than a hundred yards straight into the woods from the point where
they had landed, they came upon the spring. Even that short distance
proved not especially easy going. From the shore of the lake the ground
was rough and rocky, and sloped gradually upward. There was also plenty
of dry underbrush, which crackled and snapped under their invading feet
as they went. The object of their search proved to be a mere trickle of
clear water, flowing from between rocks into a tiny natural hollow in
the earth.

Due to its aggravatingly-slow flow, it took some minutes to obtain
sufficient water to quench the thirst of the explorers, who impatiently
waited for each other’s cups to be filled.

“It will take all day to fill that pitcher,” observed Jane as Ruth held
it under the tiny crystal thread of water.

“Then go ahead and don’t wait for me. While I’m filling it, you can get
the firewood together and help Miss Drexal. I’ll stay here by my
lonesome and commune with Nature,” laughed Ruth. “There’s no danger of
my getting lost as long as I am within hearing of you noisy persons.”

“I was going to offer to stay and console you, but not after that cruel
cut,” asserted Frances. “I’d rather go with the crowd and be a ‘Wood
Gatherer.’ I’ll console Plain Jane instead. What shall I say to thee,
heart of my heart?” she inquired, peering languishingly at her usual
victim. “Dost wish to argue, Janie?”

“No, I don’t, you ridiculous goose,” retorted Jane.

“This pitcher will be full before you even make a start,” teased Ruth.

“Come on, she wants to get rid of us,” accused Sarah.

“How did you guess it?” dimpled Ruth. “Run along, children. I’ll be
right at your heels.”

With a parting shot from Jane, “Our room is better than our company,”
the girls left Ruth to herself. Though Blanche had accompanied them, she
had not once opened her lips. Stolidly mute, she had filled her cup,
drunk a little water and pettishly thrown the remainder of it into the
bushes. As she turned to leave the spring, she purposely dropped behind
the others, followed them a few steps, then swung about and went back to
Ruth.

Her eyes fixed on the nearly full pitcher, Ruth almost let it fall from
her hands when a tense voice assailed her surprised ears: “You talked
about me to Jane Pellew when we got out of the canoes! I saw you with
your heads together. Then she looked right at me. What did you tell her?
If you’ve said a word to her about—”

“I won’t answer your question.” The limit of Ruth’s endurance had been
reached. “It’s not worthy of an answer.”

“Then I shall make Jane tell me what you said to her.”

A faintly scornful smile touched Ruth’s firm lips. Very deliberately she
said: “You’re bent on quarreling with me, Blanche. I can see that. But
as _I_ don’t intend to quarrel with _you_, I think the less we have to
say to each other the better it will be for us both. That’s all.”

Whirling, she set off through the woods, with as much speed as the
carrying of the pitcher would permit. She could hear Blanche crashing
along behind her, and, determined to escape further talk with her, Ruth
quickened her steps. Having delivered her ultimatum, she would now stick
to it. Torch Bearer or not, she would not tamely submit to being accused
of having broken her word. Hurt pride whispered against it. She was glad
she had spoken so plainly. She would not let herself feel sorry
afterward, either. If, later, the others noticed the estrangement, she
would not deny it. Blanche had forced it upon her. Hereafter, she could
look out for herself. Ruth knew in her own heart that she could honestly
hold herself blameless.

Blanche, however, was overcome with dismay as she stumbled her way back
to the lake. Always fearful that Ruth might some day break her word, she
this time knew she had been too ready to take her to task. Unconsciously
judging Ruth’s standards of honor by her own, she reflected that Ruth
would probably now break her promise, purely for spite.

Returned to the group of busy workers, her gaze wandered from one to
another until it rested on Ruth. The latter’s calm face betrayed no hint
of displeasure. She was talking gaily to Emmy and Marian as she poured a
stream of water from the pitcher into the big coffee-pot.

“Here’s Blanche!” called out Sarah. “We didn’t miss you till we got back
here. Ruth said you were coming along just behind her. Did you put those
two boxes of cakes in your pack? We can’t find them.”

“Yes.” Picking up her pack from where she had deposited it on the
ground, Blanche fumbled in it. “Here they are,” she said shortly.
Without offering to assist in the preparations, she wandered aimlessly
along the shore away from the party, brooding darkly upon her fancied
wrong. So the girls had not even missed her. It simply went to show how
wrapped up in themselves they were.

It would serve them right if she were to slip quietly into the woods and
let them wonder what had become of her. She took an undecided step as
though about to put the thought into execution, then halted. She was
hungry and wanted her luncheon. She would wait until afterward. Once the
party were well started on their trip through the woods, she would drop
out and return to the lake shore. If they spent most of the afternoon
hunting her, she did not care. She hoped her disappearance would give
them all a good scare. Ten to one they wouldn’t miss her.

Somewhat cheered by this malicious plan of revenge, Blanche strolled
back to her companions, who were now putting the last touches to the
spread.

“Come and get it,” caroled Frances, wildly waving her arms. “That’s the
way an old man, who cooks for the sheep-men on our ranch, calls the boys
to their meals,” she laughingly explained to Miss Drexal. “Next summer I
hope you and the Equitable Eight will visit me. There are oceans of good
times to be had on a ranch.”

“I am sure of it,” concurred the Guardian heartily. “It will be well
worth looking forward to.”

“Please remember you’re not the only person who lives on a ranch,”
reminded Sarah, who had been listening. “I’ve just decided to hold the
reunion at our ranch.”

This announcement heralded a playfully spirited discussion between the
rival would-be hostesses. It continued energetically as the picnickers
seated themselves about the spread, and ended with Frances challenging
Sarah to a duel, with canoe-paddles as weapons, to decide the momentous
question.

Under cover of the general air of hilarity that pervaded the _al fresco_
meal, not one noticed that the wires of communication were down between
Ruth and Blanche. Thus far, Ruth was still unrelenting. If Blanche had
addressed a remark to her, it is doubtful if she would have replied to
it. Blanche knew better than to chance it. The very manner in which Ruth
ignored her, warned her not to try it.

Luncheon eaten, a hasty clearing-up ensued. The foresters were impatient
to start on their jaunt. With over half the day already sped, they had
no time to waste. It was their ambition to travel straight across the
island and back again.

“It is now ten minutes past one,” announced Miss Drexal. “We must be
back here not later than half-past five. At three o’clock we must
about-face, wherever we may happen to be. I am not sure that we shall be
able to cross the island by three o’clock. It will depend largely on the
going, also upon how much we play along the way. ‘Keep together’ must be
our watchword. There must be no strays in this flock. Marian, will you
take the lead with me and help me blaze the trail?”

“I’d love to.” Marian’s mild brown eyes sparkled as she stepped to the
Guardian’s side. The others fell in behind the pair, and the valorous
expedition sallied forth in high feather on what was destined to prove a
momentous wayfaring.

                             CHAPTER XVIII

                         A DISGRUNTLED EXPLORER

An hour of decidedly slow progress convinced the wayfarers that they
were not likely to accomplish the crossing of the island in a whole
afternoon, not to mention doing it by three o’clock. It was a rough and
rocky course that they had elected to travel, though the untamed beauty
which they encountered at every step fully repaid them for the effort it
entailed. Blazing their trail required continual stopping. Then, too,
there was so much to see and wonder at. Had Blue Wolf been with them,
his stoical patience would have been sorely tried. He would not have
relished halting his march every two minutes while his charges went into
raptures over what he had always taken for granted.

At half past two Miss Drexal called her flock together for a brief rest.
“We won’t have time to go any farther, girls. Suppose we take it easy
for fifteen minutes, then start back. We’ve done very well, I think, all
things considered.” She glanced smilingly about at the bevy of girls.
Each was carrying some trophy wrested from the woods. Anne and Emmy were
laden with huge bunches of long-fronded ferns. Betty had found a
deserted wasp’s nest—a queer, grayish looking affair. She had spied it
hanging to a low limb of a tree, and secured it by poking it down with a
long stick. Frances and Sarah had kept an open eye for fungi, of the
smooth, creamy sort, on which they proposed to draw pictures. Marian
rejoiced in the possession of a mammoth bunch of young wintergreens.
Jane had devoted herself to accumulating long trails of green squaw
berry-vines, dotted thickly with eatable scarlet berries. Ruth, however,
had captured the prize. Quite a way back, while wandering a little
distance off the trail, she had noticed a curious rock formation that
jutted straight out and overhung a little hollow about ten feet below.
About to go closer to examine it from above, she had prudently stopped
to survey the prospect before attempting it. Deciding that it would be
rather risky, she was about to turn away when she spied among a heap of
loose stones close to her feet a flint arrow-head. Elated by her find,
she snatched it up in a hurry, and ran back to show it to her friends,
who were much impressed by it.

Blanche alone was empty-handed. She had set herself strictly to trying
to carry out her unkind design, and had been given no opportunity to do
so. Miss Drexal’s injunction against straying had blocked her plan to
drop behind the others. Every few moments during the march, the
registrar had turned to cast an anxious eye over her charges to see that
none were missing.

In consequence, Blanche had been obliged to keep up with the others,
which did not suit her at all. She had not given up all hope, however,
of carrying out her plan. On the return trip, she would wait until they
came near to the outcropping rocks where Ruth had picked up the
arrowhead. She would lag behind under pretense of tying her shoe. By
watching her chance, she might be able to approach them from below,
crawl back under them and conceal herself. Perhaps Miss Drexal would be
too busy following the blazings on the trees to notice her absence.
Certainly, the girls wouldn’t trouble themselves about her. They cared
nothing for her, and she cared still less for them. If they did miss
her, then they would have the pleasure of hunting her until she chose to
reappear.

All in all, it was a very senseless proceeding, but Blanche was too
strongly bent on discomfiting others to realize the utter folly of it.
Stalking grimly along at the tail of the procession, she took a morbid
enjoyment in merely contemplating the trick she was about to play.

Fortune apparently decided to favor her. When at last the party reached
a spot a few rods to one side of the shelving rocks, Miss Drexal again
halted them for a breathing spell.

“Oh, look!” exclaimed Jane. “Right over there is the place where Ruth
found the arrow-head. I’m going to see if I can find one, too.”

“So am I,” declared Frances. “May we, Miss Drexal? We’ll come right
back.”

“Don’t be gone long, then,” stipulated the Guardian. Her consent was
hardly given when the two raced off to the left, where the top of the
ledge was just visible, rising above the surrounding green.

Frowningly, Blanche watched them go. As usual, Jane Pellew had
provokingly interfered with her plans. At that very moment, the sudden
upward flapping of a convention of crows startled by Frances and Jane,
set all eyes gazing after them in an opposite direction. Like a flash,
Blanche saw her chance and seized it. Making a swift, noiseless dash
toward a rioting clump of bushes, she crouched behind it. The group
still had their backs turned toward her. Bending low, she ran on down a
kind of natural path that wound around an elevation of which the
shelving rocks formed a part.

She had not made her escape unobserved. The first to take her gaze from
the flapping, wildly-cawing crows, Ruth had turned just in time to catch
a glimpse of an auburn head as it disappeared from view. The very fact
that Blanche had slipped away without saying a word pointed to but one
thing. Out of sheer perversity, she had chosen to disregard Miss
Drexal’s order, and started off alone to sulk in solitary grandeur. In
her present mood, she was likely to go on and on, and end by actually
getting lost. Alarmed by the possibility, Ruth’s conscience stabbed her
sharply. Unjust to herself, she felt that she was to blame for what had
happened at the spring. Now, all she could do was to steal away, and
coax Blanche to come back before her absence had been noticed. Ruth
worked her way quietly to the edge of the group gathered about the
registrar. The latter was deep in regaling her absorbed audience with
the tale of a pet crow which she had owned as a child.

“My father caught him and had his tongue slit, so that he was able to
talk quite a little. He could say many words and a few short sentences.
I named him Sambo and—”

At this point Ruth took noiseless leave, so stealthily and swiftly that
a darting backward glance showed her that she had made a successful
get-away. She would have preferred to say boldly that she was going.
That, however, would have called undue attention to Blanche’s peculiar
behavior—something which Ruth wished to avoid. If they returned very
shortly together, nothing would be said further than, “Where did you
go?” or a casual equivalent.

Now screened from sight by the surrounding green, Ruth sped along the
same path Blanche had taken. She presently rounded the base of the hill
and came abreast of the rocky ledge. Pausing for an instant, her glance
roved anxiously about in an effort to pick up the runaway. She was still
nowhere to be seen. Suddenly Ruth’s lips formed an “Oh!” Back under the
ledge, she had spied a gap in the rocks that much resembled a cave. For
the moment, curiosity blotted out the remembrance of her quest.
Approaching the aperture, she examined it wonderingly. It was easily
large enough for her to step into, provided she ducked her head on
entering. Fearlessly, Ruth poked her head inside it. How dark it was!
Did it end abruptly in a wall of solid rock? Perhaps it went on in an
underground passage. Possibly long ago, when the Indians warred against
the whites and each other, it had served as a refuge. She had often read
of such queer underground hiding places. A great longing to see more of
it overpowered her. With a soft little laugh, she stooped and stepped
into it.

“It’s certainly dark enough here,” she commented aloud. “I wonder—” Her
cogitations broke off in a sharp little scream as she stumbled against
something that drew away from her feet with a vigorous flop. In the same
instant, a cross voice cut the gloom of the cave: “Look out. You nearly
stepped on my hand!”

“Why, Blanche Shirly!” came the amazed cry. “I was just looking for you.
I didn’t expect to find you in here, though. I happened to notice this
hole in the rocks, and wondered if it was a cave. I suppose you noticed
it, too, and thought the same.”

“I don’t see why you should be looking for me,” was the acid response,
“especially after what you said this morning. Go away and let me alone!
Why I’m here is none of your business.” From a crouching position,
Blanche now sprang angrily erect.

“But you can’t stay here,” remonstrated Ruth. “Miss Drexal will wonder
already what has become of us. She doesn’t know I came after you. I am
truly sorry about this morning. I wish you’d forgive and forget it.
Can’t we begin over again? You can’t really believe that I told Jane
anything that I had promised you to keep secret.”

“I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could see you,” flashed Blanche, bent
on being obstinate. “Go on back to your dear friends, who think you are
so wonderful. Too bad they don’t know what a hateful, deceitful girl you
are! I’ll leave here when I get ready, and not before.”

“How can you—” Ruth’s expostulation was suddenly drowned by an ominous
rumble from above. Came a dull, reverberating roar, a pelting hail of
dirt and stones, a terrific, explosive crash; then utter blackness and
silence.

                              CHAPTER XIX

                   A PAIR OF INNOCENT MISCHIEF-MAKERS

Meanwhile, Jane and Frances had rushed gleefully off on their
arrow-hunting quest. Jane’s impetuous method of dashing into things,
coupled with Frances’ love of mischief, made them boon companions,
despite their readiness to argue on sight. Jane’s merry challenge, “I’ll
beat you to the ledge!” sent them crashing through brush and bush with a
will that carried them several yards past it.

Their mad dash ended in catastrophe for Frances. Close at Jane’s heels,
an avenging slap in the face from the recoiling branch of a stunted
sapling which Jane’s headlong flight had rudely set in motion, caused
Frances to stumble and pitch forward into a heap of brush. Her slam-bang
invasion resulted in dislodging a peaceful garter-snake, which wriggled
indignantly off almost across Jane’s feet, causing her to execute a wild
leap. “Ugh, a horrid snake!” she shrieked. “You did that, Frances
Bliss!”

“You snapped that limb in my face and made me fall,” counter-accused
Frances. Whereupon both girls burst into laughter.

“Come on. We’re clear past the ledge. If we don’t hurry, we won’t have
time to look for arrow-heads.” Jane reached forth a helping hand to haul
the still-chuckling Frances to her feet.

Still hand in hand, the two trotted toward the out-cropping rocky ledge.
Straight across it lay a fallen tree, scorched black and white by
lightning, the greater part of its dead length extending into space.
Stepping upon it, Frances ran fearlessly along toward the edge of the
rocks. At every step the dry, rotten wood gave forth a crunching sound,
accompanied by an ominous quivering of its entire length. Though she
could not know it, it was on this very account that Ruth had forborne
exploring the ledge.

“Look out!” Simultaneous with Jane’s warning cry, came a rattle of
stones. Frances made a wild backward spring for safety. Precariously
balanced, as was the tree across the ledge, Frances’ weight on it had
served to dislodge a crumbling bit of rock on which it had partially
rested. Down into the hollow below it catapulted, its brittle boughs,
snapping and splintering as it descended. The terrific thud, with which
it landed in the hollow, was echoed by a long, low rumble, a great
quivering of the ledge itself, then a second deafening crash.

Well back from the scene of disaster, Jane and Frances clung to each
other, speechless with terrified amazement.

It was Jane who first managed to gasp: “What—what was it?”

In spite of the fact that she had narrowly escaped accompanying the tree
on its downward career, Frances answered with a slightly hysterical
laugh. “You must have caused an earthquake, Plain Jane.”

“_I?_ You mean _you_! You started the tree, and I guess the tree did the
rest. Something besides that tree certainly dropped. Dare we go over and
see just what happened? Come on!”

Very gingerly the two went forward. To all appearance, the ledge of rock
was still intact. Securing a thick stick, Frances went cautiously
forward, striking the stony formation ahead of her with every step she
took. Where it jutted off into space she halted, and kneeling, peered
over. Emulating her bold example, Jane was soon kneeling beside her.

“All I can see is a great lot of stones and one big rock,” declared
Frances. “Maybe the tree jarred the under part of this rock loose. We’d
better move back. The rest of it might go. That second terrible crash
must have been caused by that big rock when it fell. The rest of the
folks must have heard it. Hark!”

A long shrill halloo assailed their ears. Again it sounded; this time
nearer.

“They heard. They’re calling. We’d better go.” Jane sprang to her feet
and set off through the woods, Frances following after.

Halfway to the spot where the party had stopped to rest, Jane and
Frances dashed into the midst of an excited sextette.

“What caused that frightful crash? Were you girls very close to it?
Where are Ruth and Blanche?” White-faced and anxious-eyed, Miss Drexal
fairly hurled her questions at the laggards.

“Ruth and Blanche?” Frances echoed, staring at the Guardian. “Why, I
don’t know. They weren’t with us!”

“We almost got caught in an earthquake. Frances declares it was one, and
that I caused it,” broke in Jane gaily. “Of course she’d—”

“This is not a time to joke,” interrupted Miss Drexal curtly. “The
question is, where are Ruth and Blanche. They were with us until a few
minutes ago. We were all standing together looking at a flock of crows.
I had been telling the girls about a pet crow I once owned. It was only
after I had finished that we noticed they were missing. Then we guessed
that they had gone to find you two. Tell me quickly what happened over
there.”

“That’s queer!” Jane’s gaiety had vanished. She now looked very solemn.
In a subdued voice, she recounted what had occurred at the ledge.

“You might both have been killed.” Miss Drexal looked uncompromisingly
stern. “I blame myself for allowing you to go. Now we must find the
girls. I can’t understand their running off in this strange fashion.
It’s not in the least like Ruth.”

“Oh, they can’t have gone far,” encouraged Anne. “Ruth wouldn’t dream of
straying away purposely after all you’ve said. Blanche—”

“Make up your mind Blanche is to blame,” asserted the too-candid Jane.
“She’s been sulking ever since she tried to upset the canoe this morning
and Ruth spoke to her about it. I promised Ruth not to mention it, but I
think I ought to tell you. They—well—Blanche may have said something
horrid to Ruth while you folks were watching those crows, then started
off into the woods just to be mean. Ruth is so—so—good. Of course, she’d
run after Blanche and try to put her in a good humor. Ruth has stood a
lot from her since we came up here. I don’t know why Blanche is so down
on her. I only know she is. I haven’t been blind,” was Jane’s energetic
conclusion.

“I must have been,” was the Guardian’s dry comment. “I had no idea such
a state of affairs existed. Later on, Jane, I shall ask you to tell me
all about what happened in the canoe. Just now we must devote ourselves
to finding the girls. We must cover the ground around here in all
directions, shouting their names together. As neither you nor Frances
saw them, we will first try an opposite direction from the ledge. It is
now almost four o’clock. We must work thoroughly but speedily. We can’t
risk being caught in this wilderness after dark. But I am sure they will
hear us and answer.” It seemed impossible to the Guardian that sturdy,
capable Ruth would remain long lost. She was competent to pilot both
herself and Blanche.

The search begun, for over an hour the anxious seekers tramped sturdily
over the portion of the island they sought to cover, stopping frequently
to send forth long, shrill halloos. As is usually the case in going it
blind, they expended their greatest effort in a wrong direction. By the
time they had returned to the spot from which they had started, the
shadows had commenced to thicken in the woods. The day had dawned with a
lavish display of sunshine, but by mid-afternoon considerable of its
glory had been obscured by banks of grayish clouds in the west. Though
no rain had fallen, the glimpses of sky which the foresters caught
between the trees were not encouraging. In them they read an early
twilight, followed possibly by storm. To go back to Wohelo Wigwam
without Ruth and Blanche was hardly to be considered. Neither was the
prospect of spending a night on the island, unsheltered, particularly
pleasant.

“What shall we do? Where can they be?” quavered Anne, when at a quarter
past five the searchers halted, despair written on every face.

“I think we’d do well to go straight to the lake shore before it gets
darker,” proposed Marian. “Blue Wolf will be there. He can find them. I
know he can. Don’t you remember, he said if any of us got lost he’d find
us? The sooner we see him and tell him, the sooner he’ll start to hunt
for them. We can’t do any good just staying here after dark.”

“It’s dreadful to think of leaving them behind to—” Betty’s voice broke.

“If any harm has come to Ruth, I’ll never forgive Blanche Shirly.” All
the pent-up emotion of Emmy’s Latin temperament vibrated in her tones.
“I don’t care much what happens to _her_.”

“Neither do I,” flared Jane hotly. “I despise her! She—”

“Girls, girls!” Miss Drexal held up her hand. “Remember you belong to
the Camp Fire. I cannot allow you to talk so of Blanche. You may live to
bitterly regret such harsh words. We can only hope that no harm has come
to either Ruth or Blanche. The safety of Blanche is as important as the
safety of Ruth. I am ashamed of both of you!”

“I’m sorry for what I said,” apologized Jane contritely.

Emmy, however, was silent. Love of Ruth made it very hard for her to
forgive one who had wronged her idol. In her own mind, she laid the
blame for the whole affair at Blanche’s door. Like Jane, she had not
been asleep to the churlish fashion in which Blanche had treated Ruth
all along.

“I think, with Marian, that our wisest plan will be to go straight to
the shore before dark. We shall hardly make it, at that.” Miss Drexal
endeavored to hide her own gloomy apprehensions. “I am confident that
Blue Wolf will succeed where we have failed. Forward march, now, and try
to keep up your spirits. We are doing the only sensible thing to be done
under the circumstances.”

It was a weary and heart-sick company that stumbled its way through the
growing twilight of the forest, finally arriving at the edge of the lake
almost a quarter of a mile below where they had landed. Out under the
open sky it was still fairly light, yet by the time they had plodded
sadly along the shore toward the point where the two canoes were moored,
the shadows of evening were closing down upon the island.

Fully expecting to see the Indian already there and waiting for them, it
was a crushing disappointment to all to come upon only the two canoes.
On him was based their one hope of finding the lost girls. He had
promised to return before sunset. Now it was almost dark and he, too,
was among the missing. Undoubtedly something had happened to delay him,
Miss Drexal assured. He was not one who would wilfully break his word.
He was likely to heave in sight at any moment.

At her suggestion, the dispirited party applied themselves to gathering
fuel for a fire while there was still a little light. The Guardian’s
patent anxiety that enough be secured to keep the fire going
indefinitely, hinted at the dire possibility that they might have to
remain on the island until late in the evening, perhaps all night. While
the fuel was being brought, she and Marian took the pitcher, which Ruth
had carried to the spring that morning, and went for water, guided only
by a small flash light which the Guardian carried. The fire having been
started in their absence, she went briskly to work to make coffee,
insisting, in spite of forlorn pleas of non-hunger, that the remaining
food in the packs should be eaten, reserving a portion against the
return of the missing girls. All in all, it was a dolorous meal they
managed to choke down, seated about the glowing Camp Fire. The coffee
alone was welcomed. Tired out, as the girls were, it put a little new
life into them. Seven, eight, nine o’clock came and went; yet Blue Wolf
did not appear. Fortunately for them, their fear of a storm had not been
verified. Conversation had long since languished among them, gradually
dying out almost entirely. The very sound of their own voices oppressed
them.

When at eleven o’clock there was still no sign of the guide, Miss Drexal
said quietly: “It looks as though we are in for spending the night here.
If Blue Wolf were to come now, we could not paddle back to the camp in
the dark, even if we wished to, which, of course, we don’t. As it is, we
shall have to keep the fire going, and sit around it until morning. We
have no blankets, and it would be unwise to think of lying on the
ground. It is too damp.”

An assenting murmur rose that quickly subsided into heavy silence. It
was shattered by a stifled sob from Emmy. “I—can’t—help—it!” she cried
out brokenly. “It’s—too—awful! Oh, Ruth, dear, where are—you?”

But only the voice of the night wind in the trees answered with a
mournful sigh. Somewhere in the blackness behind them, the unyielding
forest was jealously guarding its prey.

                               CHAPTER XX

                           CAUGHT IN THE DARK

Flung face downward on a rough, uneven floor of rock by that jarring
explosive crash, oblivion descended briefly upon Ruth Garnier. Brought
to consciousness by a sharp, stinging pain in her left wrist, her first
impression was that she had suddenly been stricken blind. Though her
eyes were open, all around her was impenetrable blackness. Where was
she? What had happened? She essayed to move her left hand, and moaned
with pain. Using her right, she groped feebly about in the Stygian dark,
her limp fingers coming in contact with what seemed to be solid rock,
she braced her hand against it and slowly raised herself to a sitting
posture.

Gradually she began to remember. First of all, that reverberating crash,
as though a cannon had been fired off within a few feet of her. And
before that? Now it was all coming back to her. She had gone to look for
Blanche. Then she had seen the opening in the rocks. She had stepped
into it, and found Blanche hiding there. She had tried to make Blanche
come away. Then something terrible had happened. But where was Blanche
now? How her head ached!

Still too greatly bewildered to reason out what had befallen her, Ruth
passed her uninjured hand across her forehead. It encountered a
good-sized lump near her right temple. The mere touching of it made her
wince. Next she felt gingerly of her left wrist. Pluckily continuing to
examine it, despite the pain it gave her, she decided that it was
sprained but not broken. She thought that she must have landed heavily
upon it when she fell forward. This much clear, her mind again reverted
to Blanche. They had been facing each other when that dreadful
thundering roar had begun. Now it seemed she was alone in the darkness
unless—

In the grip of a new fear, Ruth dropped to her knees. Feeling her way
with her sound hand she crawled slowly about in a little circle,
widening it as she went. She knew now that she was still in the cave;
that she was not blind. It was the light of outdoors, not her own
eyesight which had been mysteriously blotted out in a moment’s time. The
entrance to the cave was undoubtedly blocked by some huge object, hence
the impenetrable blackness.

A low sigh of horror welled to her lips as her investigating fingers
clutched a fold of wiry cloth. An instant and they had traveled upward
to an arm and on up to a face. She had found Blanche. With a little sob,
Ruth drew herself close to the motionless form and laid an ear against
Blanche’s heart. It was still beating. Groping for one of her
companion’s limp hands, she chafed it gently, calling out over and over
again, “Blanche! Blanche! It’s Ruth! Oh, you must come to yourself
soon!”

Hampered by her injured left hand, Ruth worked desperately over the
unconscious girl with her right, now rubbing first one wrist then the
other, now shaking her by the shoulders. A dash of cold water in her
face, or a whiff of pungent smelling salts would have easily restored
Blanche to consciousness. Ruth, however, had no remedy save that one
willing hand, coupled with desperate determination.

After what seemed hours, in reality minutes, a long, shuddering sigh
issued from Blanche’s lips. Ruth’s own heart almost skipped a beat when
a faint voice mumbled, “Wh-at—oh-h—” and trailed off into silence.
Creeping to Blanche’s head, Ruth raised it with difficulty, bracing it
against her right shoulder. “It’s Ruth, Blanche. Don’t you know me?” she
entreated.

“Y-es, Ruth.” Blanche’s voice was somewhat thick. Consciousness now
rapidly returning, she asked faintly: “What’s the matter? I can’t see.
It’s—so—dark. It’s night, isn’t it?”

“It’s night in here,” was the grim response. “It must be night outside,
too. You—I—well, we are in the cave that we found. Do you remember about
it?”

“What cave? No; I don’t remember it. There was something else; something
terrible. I can’t think. The back of my head hurts.” Unsteadily,
Blanche’s arm went up in a vain effort to locate her head.

“Lie still,” came the gentle command. “Don’t try to move or talk until
you feel a little better.” Ruth had decided that, for the present, she
would not try to inform Blanche of what had occurred. Time enough for
that later on.

Crouching there in the darkness, the full gravity of their situation was
borne upon her. Her brain now perfectly clear, she was of the conviction
that some natural disturbance of the rocky ledge above was responsible
for their imprisonment. For they were prisoners beyond a doubt. For how
long? Ruth shuddered. Only too plainly one woeful fact confronted her.
Both she and Blanche had slipped away from their friends without a word.
In all probability, no one had seen them go. They alone had discovered
the cave, and to their sorrow. She knew that long since, Miss Drexal
must have started a hunt for them. Undoubtedly, the terrific rumble of
falling rocks must have reached their ears. Yet how could they possibly
guess that the two missing girls were prisoned behind them?

Ruth’s confidence in the Guardian was such that she knew Miss Drexal
would insist on having every foot of the island explored in an effort to
find them. And there was Blue Wolf, too. Recollection of the intrepid
old Indian roused her to new hope. Had not the guide said that he knew
the island. “You get lost, me find,” rang like a clarion in her ears.
Perhaps _he_ knew of the existence of the cave. Surely he must know.

Mere meditating on that one possible source of rescue consoled her not a
little. It went far to alleviate the physical misery she was patiently
enduring. Her head still ached dully, and the throbbing pain in her
sprained wrist never stopped for an instant. Her whole body ached, too,
from sitting so still, while Blanche’s head was a heavy weight against
her shoulder. The latter had taken her advice, in that she had neither
moved nor spoken since Ruth had last addressed her.

Alarmed by the thought that Blanche might have again relapsed into
unconsciousness, Ruth was about to speak softly to her when a faint
far-off sound set her aquiver. Was she dreaming or had she really heard
it? Again it came, the distant ring of voices hallooing her name.
Shifting her burden to the floor of the cave, Ruth stumbled to her feet
and, moving quickly toward the blocked entrance, began to shout an
answer at the top of her lungs.

“What are you doing?” was the querulous question. “What is it? Stop
screaming. You hurt my head.”

Ruth paid no attention. Again and again, she repeated her frantic cries,
Blanche expostulating with every shout. Though she listened desperately
between calls, the welcome halloo she had just heard sounded only twice
more, each time more faintly. It told her that her own voice had not
been strong enough to penetrate the barrier that shut them in, and thus
reach the ears of the faithful searchers. Overcome by the bitterness of
her disappointment, Ruth dropped limply to the floor and sobbed aloud.

Her wild burst of tears did more toward bracing up Blanche than had all
her previous ministrations.

“What is it, Ruth? Please tell me everything. I’m all right now.”
Pulling herself together, Blanche crawled to where the other girl lay
huddled, guided by the sound of her sobs. One of her hands strayed until
it touched Ruth’s brown braids and rested there. “I know what’s happened
to us. We’ve been caught in the cave. It didn’t come to me until you
began to cry. Then I understood why you had shouted. Did you hear
someone call, or were you just trying to get help?”

“I heard the girls. I know I heard them.” Ruth stopped crying and sat
up. “I’m glad you are all right again, Blanche. It makes it easier for
me to tell you how things are with us. You remember the way the rocks
jutted out above this cave? Well, I think they just suddenly gave way.
Maybe for years they’ve been gradually getting ready to fall. You’ve
read about such things. You know I was walking around near that ledge
when I found the arrow-head. That might have started the whole thing,
though I don’t see how it could. Maybe Jane and Frances helped it along.
You see, they started for the ledge before you and I left the crowd. I
don’t believe anyone but myself saw you go. I’m afraid nobody saw me
follow you. I didn’t say anything when I went.” Not intending this as a
reproach, she continued hurriedly. “Those shouts we heard prove that
they are hunting us. I can’t believe that we’ll have to stay here long.
Surely Blue Wolf will find us. I’m putting my faith in him.”

“I—I—hope—so,” came the quavering response. For the first time in
her selfish life, Blanche felt the clutch of remorse. She alone
was responsible for the misfortune that had befallen them. Always
ready to blame others rather than herself, she had been convicted
at last by her own conscience. “How—how—you—must hate me,
Ruth,—for—bringing—this—on—you.” Her voice died to a sobbing
whisper.

“I don’t hate you at all,” was the prompt assurance. “I’d rather you
wouldn’t talk about—well—some things. Let’s both put our minds to work
to try to think what we’d best do. I was wondering when I first saw this
cave, if it went on underground and opened at some other place in the
woods. Looking in at it, I thought it went back quite a way. It might be
the beginning of a secret passage that the Indians used long ago to get
away from their enemies. For all we know, it might go clear across the
island and come out on the opposite shore of the lake.

“There’s plenty of air here. If the opening we came in at was the only
one, blocking it would shut off the air. I’ve felt a little draft ever
since I first sat up after the crash. What we must do is to find where
it comes from. Let’s stand up back to back and each walk ahead in
opposite directions until we touch the walls. We both know from what
little we saw of it that the cave’s not large. Then we’ll feel up and
down the walls, walking along till we meet. In that way we’ll manage to
get around the whole cave, and if there is an opening, we can’t miss
it.”

Blanche meekly agreeing, the two at once proceeded to follow out Ruth’s
plan. To go over every inch of the jagged walls as high as they could
reach was a tiresome labor, particularly to Ruth, who was obliged to
work single-handed. On entering the cave, she had judged it to be about
ten by eight feet, though she had not been able to see back into the
shadows. Now it seemed three times that size. Every few seconds she
would call out hopefully. “Have you found it?” only to be answered by a
discouraged “No.”

Gradually approaching each other, Ruth’s investigating hand suddenly
slid from rock to space. She felt air blowing strongly upon it, and
cried out sharply as she extended her well arm to its full length into
unmistakable vacancy. Sweeping it from right to left, she touched rock
on the right side. Another powerful swing and she had touched it on the
left. Next she took a bold step forward, prudently ducking her head.
Very slowly she raised her arm. A trifle above her head it collided with
something solid—a hard, rather smooth surface that had the moist, cool
feel of earth.

Hearing that cry, Blanche had stumbled toward it, calling as she came.
She bumped smartly into Ruth, who had stepped back again. “What—have you
found it?”