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.