Evidently this was a spot at which those
who wished to reach the summit of the mountain took diverging paths,
according to the particular spot they wanted to reach, and whether they
were bound on a picnic or merely wanted to get to a spot whence they
might see the splendid view for which Deer Mountain was famed.
In the darkness there was absolutely no way of telling which of these
many diverging trails the gypsy had followed, and Bessie, ready to cry
with disappointment and anxiety for Dolly, was forced to sit down on a
stump and wait for daylight. Even that might not help her.
Her best chance, however, was to wait until the light came, and then,
despite her lack of acquaintance with the art of reading footprints, to
try to distinguish those of the gypsy. All that she needed was some clue
to enable her to guess which path her quarry had taken; beyond that the
message of the footprints was not necessary.
As she sat there, watching the slow, slow lightening in the east, Bessie
wondered if the day was ever coming.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109