nly a step," begged Molly, at the same
moment getting down from Tavia's arms. "Here we are right at the
tent."

Welcome shelter! Never were two girls more in need of it.

"And the queer part of it is," said Tavia, "I am supposed to be a
joke--to get and take everything funny. This is certainly no joke. How
do you feel, dear? I hope these people will let us in. We may get some
camping days after all."

They timidly made their way to the tent. It was closed!

"No lights," remarked Molly. "Oh, Tavia. My head hurts again!"

"Mercy!" exclaimed Tavia, without showing why she was so alarmed. "Do
you suppose it is just a headache or----"

Molly had sunk down on her knees. Tavia sprang to the flap of the
tent, and dragged the rope from the stake.

"Empty!" she cried. "But we must get in. Come, Molly, I can lift you,
and whoever may be the owners of the camp, surely they will not turn
us out to-night."

"But if they are rough men----"

"No, rough men do not furnish a tent like this. See the pictures
pinned up; and what is this?"

Tavia had lighted a candle that was placed conveniently near the flap,
with matches at hand, showing that whoever lived in the tent intended
to return at dark, and so had their light ready. Beside this candle
was a printed slip of paper. Tavia read:

"A thousand dollars reward for information that will lead to
the finding, dead or alive, of Dorothy Dale and Tavia
Travers."

"Dorothy gone too!" shrieked Tavia. "Then they are scouring the woods
for us, and that is why this camp is deserted!"

"If only I could walk!" breathed Molly.

"Never mind. We will stay here--until something else happens--but who
can tell what that may be!"

The shock of the news about Dorothy absolutely stunned Tavia. With it
went all her strength, all her courage, and she felt then like lying
down to die!

CHAPTER XXIII

DOROTHY'S ESCAPE

When Miss Bell returned to Dorothy's room in the sanitarium, after her
talk over the telephone, Dorothy saw that her anxiety had reached a
state of prostration. She seemed convinced that she had taken to the
institution the wrong girl, and the dread of disgrace, especially as
she was a new nurse in the house, seemed to weigh very heavily upon
her. She would come up and look into Dorothy's face, examine the
pupils of her eyes, and then go away sighing.

"Are you sorry I am not demented?" asked Dorothy, with as much in her
voice as she could command.