The girl scouts and the open road

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Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Thicket. 9

II. Alone. 22

Chapter I The Thicket

T he laurel and rhododendron thicket extended as far as the eye could reach.

This afternoon in the late sunshine the foliage showed silver and gray; the flowers having long since faded, the seed-pods were slowly maturing.

^^Do you think we are lost in a trackless wilderness, Dorothy? I donT believe any human being ever penetrated this thicket before, and certainly no Girl Scout.^^

The girfls voice revealed a pretense of gaiety.

Before replying her companion stumbled; after regaining her balance she stood a mo¬ ment swaying uncertainly.

^^You are braver than I am, Tory, if you can still even attempt to appear cheerful. In spite of our Girl Scout training I am about to give up hope. When shall we find a trail? We lost our way before twelve o^clock and it is now—I wonder what hour it is? My watch has stopped/^

Both girls glanced upward toward the sky. beheve it must be between four and five o’clock. Don’t be discouraged. Try to have faith^ Dorothy, it is a much stronger attribute than hope and affords one greater help. Once we are safely out of this thicket there is sure to be a trail on the farther side leading down the mountain. If only Ann Craig were with us, she could supply us with knowledge as well as faith.”

The two girls were dressed in Scout uni¬ forms bearing the insignia of their troop, an eagle’s wing.

They moved on, now walking with increas¬ ing slowness and evidence of fatigue. They were compelled to choose their steps warily, since the ground underfoot was a network of tangled roots and branches. With their hands they thrust aside the heavy foliage which everywhere impeded their movement, not daring to look ahead savewhen they were compelled to pause for a few moments’ rest.

In their hearts they realized that whatever the degree of their exhaustion and depression they must not confess even to each other, since confession might mean defeat.

Tory, who was frailer and smaller than her companion, began humming a Girl Scout song of the outdoors. ^ She had red-gold hair, brown eyes and a skin of a clear, healthy pallor.

The song was not a success. Her lips were too parched and dry. She dared not waste her strength. She and Dorothy McClain were strangers in the Cumberland mountains. During the summer holiday of “The Girl Scouts in Mystery Valley,^’ they had been told many stories of men and women, natives to these mountains, who disappeared and were never seen again. Unless they could reach the end of the thicket this must be their own fate. Obviously no one had traveled this way before.

“Dorothy!’^ Tory^s voice was weaker, her hps paler. She had just discovered a hole in her water bottle and that it was completely empty.

Her companion, a few feet ahead, made her way back. Asking no questions, she extended her own bottle, but when Tory had moistened her lips they reahzed that their supply of water was now almost gone, and thirst is ever harder for the lost traveler to endure than hunger.

They trudged on, a half mile, a mile, hav¬ ing lost all ability to estimate or even to guess at the distance.

Three days before from the House by the Granite Ledge overlooking Mystery Valley the Girl Scouts of the Eagle’s Wing with their Scout Captain and guide had started for their journey along the open road. Before reaching the open road in the blue-grass region of Kentucky they planned to ascend and descend the trail over Firescald Mountain in the heart of the Cumberlands.

Only this morning the plan held all its original charm.

No one of the travelers had been ill or dis¬ agreeable. The weather had been perfect, not an hour of rain, no mountain mists, save in the early morning when the dawn colors turned the mists into ascending clouds of opal and rose.

With his old coach Jeb Tolliver had lum¬ bered on ahead. If one grew weary a half hour or an hour’s rest inside the coach was suflicient.

“I do wish Jeb had not turned back,” Dorothy murmured aloud. She was not speaking to her companion, she was not aware that her words had been uttered aloud. Some

IS time before they had ceased all effort at con¬ versation. Besides, Tory was at present half a dozen yards away. Yesterday of course the trail grew too steep for Jeb to manage his old wagon, but he might have continued on horseback or on foot. We were foolish to think we could follow the trail with¬ out him.” Unconsciously Dorothy sighed. She was ashamed of her growing weakness and gloom. Stronger and a few months older than Tory Drew, she believed that she had shown less courage and fortitude. And she was a country doctor^s daughter with half a dozen brothers and had spent a great part of her life out of doors.

^‘The fault after all was Tory’s and mine,” she continued aloud. We should never have dropped behind to talk of Katherine Moore and of Lance, even if Kara is Tory’s dearest friend and Lance my own best beloved brother. One, two, three, four, five, six, nearly seven hours since we lost the trail, lost the trail!”

Suddenly the girl ceased. She had heard the sound of her own voice and realized that she was speaking aloud and repeating her own words.

Dorothy McClain was a tall, fair girl with slender shoulders and an athletic figure. Her hair was a gold brown and her eyes gray blue. Ordinarily she had a bright color, but this afternoon her color had vanished. A year before her brother and Katherine Moore had gone to Europe with Katherine^s guardian, Lance to study music, Kara to try to recover from a fall during the hoHday encampment of ^^The Girl Scouts in Beechwood Forest.^^

At this moment Dorothy placed her hand as a shield before her eyes. Dared she trust her own vision? Was it possible that she beheld about a quarter or half mile away the shadow of green branches higher overhead than the growth of this everlasting tangle of thicket. If only she and Tory Drew might reach the beginning of a woods their way would be far easier. In the first place they could lie down on a little clearing and rest, in the second place there might be a chance of discovering a stream, although water was not very abundant in the Cumberland hills. And greatest of all, perchance a trail might be found among the trees. Men and women must now and then traverse the forests for wood and game and fish. No one who knew the mountains ever set foot within a laurel thicket. She would not, however, speak of her hope to Tory for the present, fearing disappointment.

More resolutely and unconsciously with increasing speed she pushed her way on ahead.

Had she looked behind she might have become aware that a change had taken place in her companion.

Tory’s valor, her fight to maintain not alone her own faith and courage, but her compan¬ ion’s in adversity, had passed. No longer was she endeavoring to deceive herself. Why suppress the truth? Hopelessly and for all time she and Dorothy were lost in a tangled wilderness from which there was no escape. In time, it was true, some one might discover them. How many days, weeks? And her own strength would not hold out for hours.

Dorothy was gaining upon her. She could not maintain the struggle. Yet she would not call out to ask aid. Better Dorothy should seek safety alone.

Tory’s mind also was becoming confused. Every few feet she staggered now and clutched at the heavy branches. Holding them back and letting go too swiftly they struck and bruised her face and arms and body. Her head felt dizzy. She was overheated from her long struggle and the rays of the late summer sun beating down for so many hours almost directly upon her. The mountains were supposed to be cool, but since early noon to-day the warmth had been intense. Where could she find strength and heahng?

Tory thought of their Scout Captain, Mem¬ ory Frean, who had been her uncle Richard Fenton’s friend so many years before. Mem¬ ory Frean, her own Patrol of Girl Scouts, Donald McClain, Dorothy’s brother, Geoffry Burnett, who was to accompany their walking party on his way to college in Berea, Ken¬ tucky, doubtless were searching Firescald Mountain at this moment, seeking to find the lost. There was no consolation, but deepen¬ ing regret in this idea. Were there no lines in her Scouting book intending to bring strength to the weak, courage to the timid, faith to the doubting?

j; Unexpectedly Tory’s mental confusion less¬ ened. Already she was calmer. What were the words trying to form themselves in her tired brain?

^^Our heart is not turned back; neither our steps gone out of the way. No, not when Thou hast smitten us into the place of dra¬ gons.” The lines were from one of the great Psalms. Tory smiled. Why should their danger appear less?

^^We are not in the ^place of dragons.’

After all, only wildcats and a few bears inhabit these hills/^

She was smiling when her foot again caught in a tangle of knarled roots and twigs. As she struck the ground she was no longer afraid, instead there was an instant when she was aware of being grateful for the descending darkness and peace.

An hour after when finally Tory opened her eyes she discovered that she was alone. Still she was not frightened. She could see the sky above her between the green branches of a tree. Thrusting out her hand she touched, not the leaves of the laurel or the gnarled roots and trunks, but the sweet, warm earth.

She was out of the tangled copse and by what method this seeming miracle had been achieved she did not question. She was not even particularly tired. A dull pain in her head troubled her only slightly.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Was she hearing the most beautiful sound in nature, the sound of running water, or was this only an impression because of the strength of her own desire?

Tory closed her eyes again. Some one was coming toward her. She realized that Dorothy McClain had gone on further to seek assistance and was now returning alone.

The touch of fresh cool water on her fore¬ head and lips was more comforting than any human aid.

“Dorothy, you miracle worker, tell me everything that has taken place since I fainted or fell! I don^t know what occurred, I do believe you managed all alone to carry or drag me out of the thicket.^^

Tory suddenly sat up. The movement was too abrupt, for a sharper pain in her head informed her that she must have hurt herself seriously in falling, but the smile of relief on Dorothy^s face was sufficient compensation.

“You are wearier than I am. Do please sit down and forgive me, if it is possible, for being such a nuisance. When I think of how I preached to you! Perhaps it is preaching, not pride, that goes before a fall.^^

Tory was like herself, the old gaiety and courage.

Dorothy McClain had been through a dark hour and was glad to drop on the ground beside her friend.

“Yes, ril rest, but only for a few moments, Tory. And Ill tell you what has happened, because I have good news. I was rushing on ahead of you because I felt pretty sure that I had found a place where ,the laurel copse ended. I did not dare speak of it for fear we should both be disappointed. However, the idea gave me more pep and energy than I had before. And I was right. I came to a spot at last where there was no doubt there was a forest of trees and real, solid earth, not a tangle of vines. I shouted ^hurrah^, I believe. Anyhow I turned, but you were not to be seen. Of course I rushed back, calling and crying, I am afraid. As a Girl Scout of several years’standing I should not confess this, but I was so tired and so nervous I felt as if the earth had swallowed you up and I was alone in no man’s land. Then I saw a shadow on the ground. Finding you, I car¬ ried you somehow to this grove of trees. As well for you that you were unconscious, be¬ cause I don’t suppose I was gentle! Part of the time I must have hauled you as if you were a bundle of old clothes too heavy to lift. I left you here after a few minutes and went on. No, T was not afraid, Tory darling. I discovered a trail and knew that in these mountains a trail always leads finally to running water.”

Impulsively Dorothy McClain, who was the least demonstrative of persons, leaned over and kissed the other girl’s white lips.

'^Tory, the trail brought me not only to a creek—crik, the mountaineers say—but to a tiny log cabin a few yards beyond. A mysteri¬ ous fact is that the cabin is empty, although I believe some one has been living there within the past week/^

Tory put up her hand to her temple.

“I can go with you at once, I seem to have hurt my head when I fell, but I donT think the wound is serious. Besides, your good news, Dorothy, makes one strong again. Of course the cabin has an owner who may return now at any time. Surely we can find some¬ thing to eat and remain there over night.”

Making another sudden effort to arise, Tory felt an annoying return of the past faintness and knew that Dorothy^s arm was placed about her waist.

see if there is anything I can do for you later. Now we must go on if possible. Dark¬ ness is almost upon us.”

Tory nodded. In another moment she was upon her feet and the two of them moving on slowly. Once only did they permit themselves to rest; then they did not sit down by the water^s edge, but instead stretched out flat upon the ground, dropping their hands into its cooling depth.

Does He not water the furrows of the earth and sendest rain into the little valley thereof: Thou makest it soft with drops of rain and blesseth the increase of it/^

Tory Drew laughed softly. She had damp¬ ened the bandage she found in her Scout knap¬ sack and was binding it about her own temples.

^^No, I am not delirious, Dorothy, donT look so alarmed. I was quoting a Psalm when I fell and now I am merely going on with my quotation. I believe I can see the log cabin! Now I find it is so near I shall not rest again until after we arrive.^'

In this world certain scenes make impres¬ sions upon us that neither years nor manifold experiences wipe out. Neither Dorothy McClain nor Tory Drew would ever forget the tiny hut with its background of sombre hills. Before the door was a cleared space of perhaps a dozen yards and around this grew a hedge of wild roses transplanted from the lower slopes of the hill.

^Hdl knock again and perhaps some one will hear me this time. Tory, will you wait here? Dorothj^ suggested.

Tory preferred to accompany her to the closed door.

Chapter II Alone

T here was no reply, not to repeated knockings.

Suddenly the angry barking of a dog broke the stillness.

Tory was absurdly afraid of dogs, but Dorothy McClain had no more fear of them than the average boy.

The dog that now appeared at one side of the cabin was a hunting dog, a beautiful creature of cream and golden brown, with intelligent, gentle eyes, who recognized at once that the two girls were not ordinary intruders. When Dorothy spoke and held out her hand he came fawning to her feet as if grateful for the interruption to his solitude.

^^Some one must be living here, for this dog is absolute proof of the fact. I shall make an effort to push open the door,^^ Dorothy an¬ nounced authoritatively, observing that Tory^s * reserve of strength was now finally used up and that she must have rest and food before they could travel another yard.

Stronger than the average girl, the door gave way so promptly to her push that Doro¬ thy was almost precipitated headlong into the cabin.

Her surmise was correct, the single room was empty, although undoubtedly some one recently had occupied it.

By the fireplace stood a pile of logs and a basket of chips and pine cones. The room was comparatively clean. Greatest boon of all, Dorothy discovered almost in the first glance a meagre supply of food. A shelf ran along one side of the wall and upon this shelf stood several cans and paper bags, while be¬ neath hung a saucepan and a frying pan.

A cot in the comer was covered with a pair of army blankets.

Tory Drew had entered the cabin. She now stood staring about her as if scarcely aware of where she was or of what was expected of her. _ J

Without any discussion of the question, Dorothy led her to the couch, and when she had dropped down upon it removed her kit¬ bag and shoes and with greater difficulty her coat. Tory had almost ceased from sheer exhaustion to be able to render any assistance.

A half hour later Dorothy had the fire burning, grateful beyond words to the thrifty householder who had left the convenient sup¬ ply of wood. A little later she was pouring a cup of warm soup between Tory^s lips. To her intense anxiety she was beginning to be aware that the wound Tory had received was more serious than either one of them had dreamed. There was no open wound or cut, only a deep bruise above the temple that was slowly darkening. Worst feature of all, Tory was slightly delirious, with only brief flashes of consciousness.

Dorothy McClain was a physician^s daugh¬ ter as well as a Girl Scout. She appreciated that there was nothing she could do for her friend at present save to keep her quiet and in so far as possible allay her fever. Her tem¬ perature was not high at the moment but would in all probability increase during the night.

Had she the opportunity, Dorothy might have thought of her own fatigue; she had been sufliciently conscious of it a few hours before, but now could only think of Tory.

A battered tin bucket rewarded a moment^s search. She immediately left the house for water, realizing that Tory^s hands and head must be bathed during the night and that she must see that she drank as much water as she had strength to swallow.

As she left the cabin, even in the midst of her anxiety and loneliness, Dorothy paused for an instant, overcome by the lofty grandeur and beauty of her strange surroundings.

The sun had gone down behind the hills and only the afterglow remained. The higher mountains beyond formed a rim of blue so deep that it was almost purple. In the woods the screech owls were calling and the whippoor-wills beginning their plaintive lament. There were other and less familiar noises. As she hurried on her errand Dorothy was in¬ creasingly grateful for the shelter of the little cabin.

Upon her return she was wise enough to eat and drink.

How long Tory would be ill or when they would be discovered she had no way of know¬ ing. The owner of the cabin, man or woman, or both, might return at any moment or be gone for days or weeks. Their own party would doubtless scour the mountain until they were found, but it might be necessary that they seek experienced aid.

By and by Dorothy sat down by the fire a few feet from Tory^s couch. She would keep the fire burning through the night, as she had found no candle or oil and had no other light, save the light of the stars that shone through the many open spaces in the cabin roof.

The moon would not rise until after mid¬ night.

Dorothy felt she must not dare to sleep, for Tory might need her at any instant. Moreover, she must be awake to explain their presence if the owner of the cabin returned. There was not one chance in a hundred that a prowler in the mountains would light upon the trail that had led them hither, but even for this Dorothy endeavored to be prepared.

An old rifle stood in a corner of the room. Fortunately her brother Donald had taught her how to load and unload a gun and also to shoot at clay pigeons.

Dorothy remembered to-night how often she had protested that she would never fire at any living thing. Well, one never knew what demands destiny might make! She would shoot if necessary to save Tory. She might also be compelled to hunt game, for the provisions in the cabin were perilously scant.

During the first hours of the night, not¬ withstanding her excellent intentions, Dorothy fell often into a light slumber. She was glad of the comforting presence of the dog. Tory^s return to consciousness became less and less frequent; she felt alone in the world with only the firelight and the starshine overhead.

Dreaming occasionally, she was not always sure whether the dreams were waking or sleeping ones.

The cabin consisted of only one room with the stone fireplace in the center. On the left side of the room a steep ladder led up to what looked to be a half story that might prove a storeroom or a sleeping room. Such an ar¬ rangement was common in the primitive mountain cabins, where father and mother slept inThe large room that served as kitchen, living room, and dining room, while the chil¬ dren were stored away in an attic chamber under the roof.

In the morning Dorothy meant to explore, when daylight would make all further explo¬ ration simpler.

Waking two or three times under the im¬ pression that Tory had stirred and was need¬ ing her, Dorothy heard mysterious sounds in this dim chamber. She was nervous over the noises, although perfectly aware that the room was probably inhabited by squirrels who were storing away supplies for winter.

Before daylight Dorothy arose and for the fifth time bathed Tory^s face and hands. Try as she might to persuade herself that her friend^s fever was less, she found this selfdeception out of the question.

Oftentimes during the earlier months of the summer their Scout Captain, Memory Frean, had insisted that Tory was overexerting herself with the long mountain climbs and the repeated trips into Mystery Valley. Her present condition might be due partly to strain. If they were in for a long, lonely siege Dorothy asked herself all the demands, spiritual, mental and physical, that would be made upon her? ^

She sat down by the edge of Tory’s cot, leaning her head against it. The nearness brought a degree of consolation. The dog changed his position and came and lay down at her feet. The gun stood against one side of the chimney, the fire was burning low but would last until morning.

This time Dorothy did not fall asleep as she had earlier in the night. She was rested and her brain had become more active. She had not given a great deal of thought to their Scout Captain and the other Girl Scouts and to her brother, Donald McClain, who was traveling with them. At first she had been too full of Tory^s need and her own. Now she could vision them, how worn out and dis¬ couraged they must be to-night after searching for them since before noon.

If any one of their own party found them, ' Dorothy believed in Ann Craig, the young girl from Mystery Valley who had lived with the Girl Scouts and Miss Frean in the House by the Granite Ledge during the early part of the summer. Ann loved her mountains and knew them. She was returning to spend the winter in Westhaven with the Scout Captain, Memory Frean. In an emergency calling for physical courage and prowess one could trust Ann.

Again Dorothy felt a profound desire for sleep returning and this time did not resist the desire. As a result of her fever Tory was sleeping more deeply. In a few hours day would be upon them.

When Dorothy awakened a bar of sunlight lay across her face.

Walking to the door, she opened it to allow the fresh mountain air to sweep through the cabin. The dog bounded past her to hunt his own breakfast. Upon her couch Tory stirred and spoke indistinctly.

Dorothy stood quietly studying her sur¬ roundings by the light of a new day. Could any human being choose to hve amid such beauty and such loneliness? So far as they were concerned she and Tory had no choice at present. Surely the owner of the cabin would return some time during the day! She could not endure the thought of passing an¬ other such night with Tory so ill and all the world of people she knew and loved so far away.

^‘1 feel as if Tory and I had been trans¬ ported to one of the mountains in the moon and left there to look after ourselves/’ Dorothy murmured aloud. She then turned and set about the day’s tasks.

Chapter III Discovery

A WEEK had passed. It was now a little before high noon.

A girl was wandering slowly and cautiously through a forest of trees with a rifle slung over her shoulder and carrying a bunch of freshly killed game. She was wear¬ ing a Girl Scout uniform, shabby and faded and looking as if it had seen hard service.

The week through which she had just lived had altered Dorothy McClain. Her face showed older and graver, the lines were thin¬ ner. Responsibility had been thrust too suddenly upon her. Circumstances had de¬ manded that she display the resourcefulness and a tirelessness greater than she would have considered herself capable of had the test not been made.

After seven days of illness, with only occa¬ sional flashes of consciousness, Tory Drew had not recovered. Better she was undoubt¬ edly; her fever had grown perceptibly less, yet still she was unable to sit up or to care for herself in any fashion.

Leaving Tory alone in the cabin was a source of deep anxiety, and nothing save necessity would have induced Dorothy to go so far away as she was at the present moment. Their food supply had grown alarmingly small. Indeed, nothing at all remained of the supply they had found in the cabin save a few scant handfuls of corn meal and a single can of soup. This last must be preserved for Tory. The day might come when she could not go forth to hunt or fish, or, notwithstanding her effort, her luck might fail.

Fortunately to-day fate had been kind. Dorothy had sufficient game to carry them through another forty-eight hours. And who could tell at what hour relief would arrive?

Dorothy stood resting for a moment in a small space between two giant forest trees. At a short distance away she could hear her dog hunting about among the underbrush for his own game. She would whistle in a few moments for his return, since they must be starting back for the cabin as soon as possible.

The noonday sun shone bright between the trees. The intense brightness slightly dimmed the clearness of Dorothy’s vision. She was not gazing at the scenery. In this past week she had grown weary of this everlasting “sea of mountains. She also had grown weary of asking herself why no one had penetrated to the cabin where she and Tory were awaiting rescue. Certainly she was convinced that the search for them must still be going on. It would be tireless, endless. The Scout Captain, the Girl Scouts and her own brother, Donald, would never cease their effort—not until they completely lost hope.

“Lost hope!'’ This thought had not occurred to her before. Yet of course in time if they were not discovered they w’ould be given up for lost. And then?

Had she not resolutely put away from her the thought of her father's anxiety? In a family of six brothers she was the only daughter. Nor had she permitted herself to think of Tory Drew's uncle and aunt, Mr. Richard Fenton and Miss Victoria Fenton. Tory's artist father and her stepmother were in Europe, and for a little time longer would be spared the news of Tory's disappearance.

Dorothy moved. She was not aware of whether her movement was due to the fact that she intended to dispel at once the useless trend of ideas which seemed to be taking possession of her, now that her hunting was over, or whether some sight or sound had aroused her wandering attention.

Certainly she at once looked straight in front of her and almost directly overhead.

Afterwards she remained utterly silent and transfixed, her lips actually pursed into an 0. She had contemplated at the same instant whistling to her dog.

At the end of a branch of a tree which swayed slightly from the weight, and only a few feet above her head, a giant cat crouched ready to spring. The eyes glaring at her were brilliant jewels, two deep yellow topazes. The creature was not an ordinary cat, the forelegs were shorter and the body heavier, the short fur stood upright.