“Well! If you know the way out, why don’t you say so?” Dorothy flared in exasperation.

“What?” returned Bill vaguely.

He was walking across the side of the hill, keeping beneath the end of the rocky overhang forty feet above his head. The light from his electric torch swept along the edge of this seemingly unsurmountable obstruction. Then it darted out and upward as if to pierce the dripping night above.

“Did you speak?” he amended, looking back at her. “Thought I heard you say something, but couldn’t quite catch it.”

His voice was as sincere as the words he had just uttered, but Dorothy’s reply was caustic.

“I said why keep the secret to yourself? All this stuff about how Terry got down and we are supposed to get up is keeping me on pins and needles. If Terry left a rope ladder or something hanging over the edge last summer, it must be gone by now.”

“No, he didn’t use a rope ladder—”

“Well, it looks to me as if we’d have to fly up if we ever want to get to the top of this ridge! I don’t know whether you’re trying to tantalize me—but you’re succeeding, all right. For goodness’ sake, Bill, if you know the answer, tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Dorothy,” he called repentantly. He ran up the incline toward her. “I didn’t mean to leave you in the soup—I ought to have realized—Look, I’m awfully sorry,” he repeated in sincere contrition.

“Oh, that’s all right, Bill.” She was embarrassed now. “I had no business to get so shirty.” Under the light of the torch, their eyes met in a smile of friendly understanding.

“But please tell me what it is you’re trying to find?”

“Why, the tree—I honestly thought I’d told you about it before.”

“What tree?” she asked patiently.

“The one that Terry used to get down here. It’s our only hope.”

“But I don’t see any tree. If there is one, how is it going to help us?”

Bill took her hand and gave it a little pat.

“Come over here with me,” he said, and led the way toward the spot where he had been standing.

“But Bill—there’s no tree up there—”

“Wait until I get the light on it. There you are!”

And there was a tree, after all. But instead of pointing toward the heavens like any other tree she had ever seen, this Colorado spruce grew sideways out from the top of the cliff. With the exception of a few tufts on the top, its branches grew only on the upper side of the horizontal trunk, giving it more the appearance of a ragged hedge than an honest-to-goodness tree.

“I get you,” she said slowly. “The tree—and the rope.”

“Aha! young lady, you’re not so dumb as you’d sometimes like people to think!”

“But is the rope long enough?”

“Hope so. Terry claimed he used it double.”

“Yes?” she said doubtfully. “But will the tree hold us both? You’ve been a sailor, but I don’t think I’m up to climbing a swinging rope, hand over hand after coming up that chimney.” She thought for a moment, then went on. “There’s only one way I can get up there. You’ll have to tie one end of the rope to a stone and sling it over the trunk. When that end drops, we can take out the stone, I’ll stick my foot in the loop and—”

“Bill Bolton pulls you up,” he ended for her. “That listens well, Dorothy, and if the rope was running through a pulley up there, everything would be hunky-dory. As it is, she’ll be chafing against a hard, uneven surface. I’d probably pull the tree down, even if I was able to get you off the ground.”

“But my arms feel dead—right up to my shoulders.”

“I know, kid. But you can do it, after I fix the rope and you have lashed your end to this big bush here. It’s going to be a case of shin for you, not hand over hand climb. Although that’s not so hard when you know how. Like most things, there’s a knack to it.”

“All right. I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll make it,” he assured her. “If you’ll untie that end of the rope from around your waist, I’ll hunt up a rock and we’ll get busy.”

Presently a heavy stone was fastened to the rope end.

“Stand clear,” sang out Bill. Then as she stepped back, he swung the stone round and round in a vertical circle, much as a seaman heaves the lead for a sounding.

Up went the stone and the rope, and Dorothy watched with bated breath while she pointed the torch for guidance. She saw it swing over the tree trunk and drop to earth on the farther side.

“Snappy work, Bill,” she applauded. “Who goes first? You or me?”

“This is a case where gentlemen take precedence. I’ll go first—and show you a little trick they teach midshipmen at Annapolis.”

He untied the knot which held the stone and bringing the ends together pulled the rope until the lengths on both sides of the trunk were even.

“So long,” he breezed, “see you anon!”

With a hand on either rope he swung himself upward, seemingly without effort. It was as though he were lifting a penny-weight rather than one hundred and seventy-five pounds of solid American bone and muscle. Then with a quick movement he twisted the slack ends about his thighs, and the girl was amazed to see him let go both hands and wave.

“It’s a way we have in the Navy,” he laughed. “Quite a comfortable seat—if you know how. Skirts are rather in the way, so I don’t advise you to try it. Although I must say in parting that you have already parted with the greater part of your skirt.”

Dorothy giggled. “What of it? There’s a perfectly good pair of bloomers underneath.” She was amused by his fooling, though she suspected he was trying to put heart into her.

Bill coughed. “Finicky persons of British extraction might claim that your last statement was a decided bloomer itself—but I digress—” he went on, in the manner of a barker at a side show. “Laydees and gen-tel-men—I wish to state that William Bolton, late tiddledywinks champion of the Nutmeg State, is about to give his famous impersonation of a monkey on a stick!”

His hands grasped the ropes above his head. Up came his body, the turns about his thighs providing an apparently comfortable seat or purchase, while his hands shot upward again. The speed with which he went through these movements was remarkable, the swiftness of his passage up the ropes only comparable to an East Indian running up a cocoanut palm. Before Dorothy could believe her eyes, he was sitting astride the tree trunk, hauling up the rope.

“That was marvelous!” she called up to him. “Some day you’ll have to show me how you do it.”

“O.K.!”

She saw now that one end of the rope was coming slowly down again. As it sank nearer, her torch brought to view the fact that it was knotted every few feet. Soon she was able to catch the swinging end.

“Make it fast to that bush,” he commanded.

She did as she was told and turned to him for further orders.

Bill pulled the rope taut, then lashed his end about the trunk close to the point where the tree jutted out from the rock. That done he slashed the loose half free with his knife just above the knot.

“That gives us a hauling line,” she heard him say. “I’ll hang on to this end—you knot the other about your waist.”

She caught the end that he threw down and after fastening it securely about her, peered up at him again.

“All right for me to shin up?” she asked, with a hand on the knotted rope that was to act as her ladder to the dizzy height above.

“Wait till I get back on terra firma—this tree won’t stand our combined weights.”

Perhaps a minute elapsed. Then she heard his voice again, though she could no longer see him.

“Come ahead!” he directed. “Sing out when you start and let me know if I pull too hard.”

Dorothy switched off the light and slipped the torch down the back of her frock where it was caught in the blouse made by the line about her waist.

“Ready!” she called and grasping the taut rope, she started to shin up.

Almost immediately she was helped on her way by a steady pull on the line Bill was holding. The going was difficult but the knots held her and kept her from slipping. Notwithstanding aching arm and leg muscles, it was surprising how easily she was able to hoist herself upward with the added pull from above. The actual distance to be climbed was not so great, but it seemed unbelievably soon when her hands touched the tree trunk.

Bill called a warning. “Get a good purchase around the rope with your legs, then lift your arms—take hold of the branches on top of the trunk and heave!”

She felt a stronger pull on the rope; her hands grasped two upright branches and she was dragged upward and on to the tree. Bill caught her under her arms and swung her on to the rock. Then he picked her up bodily and carried her back a few yards from the edge of the chasm.

“Hurray! We’re up!” he gasped and let her down on solid ground.

Dorothy did not reply. For a moment speech was beyond her. She sank down on a boulder. After a little while she untied the rope that belted her and producing the electric torch, handed it to Bill.

“Snap on the light, will you?—while I take stock of the damage. I know I’m a wreck, but it’s just as well to learn the worst at once.”

“Rather rumpled,” he pronounced as he complied with her request. “Good night! You’ve only got one shoe!”

“Lost the other coming up the rope. This one is no good either. What’s left of it is just a mass of soaking pulp.”

Then she laughed softly as she brushed some spruce needles from her knees and picked a malicious little bit of flint from the palm of one hand. Her wet skirt was in ribbons. She saw that her stockings were a mass of ladders now, and she had a suspicion that her knickers were torn. But what did such trifles matter when one was bent upon a great achievement?

“Pretty bad,” she admitted and stood up on one foot. “Hand me my slicker, please. This rig is beyond repair—that will keep some of the wind out. Gee, it’s chilly!”

“And wet,” he added grimly, as he helped her into the coat. “Sorry to have to remind you, Dorothy, but we’ve got to be on our way, again.”

“I don’t think I can go any further, Bill.”

He knew this to be a candid statement of fact, not a complaint.

“But we must, Dorothy. They are coming after us, you know.”

“Not up this cliff! Unless, you mean—” her voice was troubled, “the rope! Could you slide down ours and untie that from the bushes, then shin up again?”

“I could, but it isn’t necessary. They aren’t coming that way.”

“Is there another way?”

“Yes, for them. By the road across the valley and around by either of the entrances to the reservation.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because while I was out on the tree trunk, I saw lights going up the hill. Then a car which evidently had been parked down the road from Stoker’s house, started off toward the Boutonville entrance. Which means, of course, that they’ll motor in on the Boutonville road. That crosses the reservation. Then all they’ve got to do is to leave the car at the mouth of the Fire Tower trail and hike down here along the top of the cliffs. They’ve cut off any retreat down the cliffs on our part, too. Those birds intend to catch us—or rather, they want to get hold of Stoker pretty badly. They’ve left men down in the valley, I saw their lights.”

“Well, it will take them some time to walk over here from the Boutonville road,” Dorothy said wearily. “I’m going to sleep. I’ve got to.”

“You can’t—not in this rain. And you’re soaked through into the bargain.” Bill’s tone was firm. “Wait a minute—I’ve got an idea.”

Dorothy, who was half dozing with her back to the boulder, opened her eyes with an effort. She saw him draw forth a paper from his pocket, unfold it and study it with the aid of the lighted torch.

“This is a map of Poundridge Reservation,” he explained. “Here’s a trail that leads back from Raven Rocks to the Spy Rock Trail. This end of it must be about a hundred yards along the cliffs to our left, if I’ve got my bearings right. Listen, Dorothy! These two trails meet about a mile and a half from here—and close by is a cabin. It’s marked Shelter No. 6 on the map. Once in there we’ll be under cover. These shelters are rented to campers during the summer, you know. There’s sure to be a fireplace. I’ll find the dry wood and we can dry out and get warm.”

Dorothy yawned and shut her eyes again.

“No use, Bill. I hate to be a short sport—but I’m just all in. Chances are we’d find the cabin locked when we got there.”

Bill put the map back in his pocket.

“I don’t blame you,” was what he said. “I’m used to roughing it and I don’t feel any too scrumptious myself. But we’ve got to do something. The gang will be here in less than an hour. But I must admit that I don’t see how you’re going to walk a mile and a half with only one shoe.”

He looked down at Dorothy. She was fast asleep.