Dorothy's wrist, his knife slipped, and cut clear across his own hand,
the blood spurting from a long wound. With a cry he dropped his hold
on Dorothy, and attempted to staunch the flow of blood.

Freed, Dorothy ran--ran as she felt she had never known she could run!
She did not stop to call, although she judged that the boys might be
near by; but ran on, across the marshes without any heed to the water,
that even splattered up in her face, as she jumped from edge to edge
of the rivulets, making her way out to the open roadway.

How her heart pounded! It did not seem to beat, but rather to strike
at her breast and almost to strangle her.

It was getting quite dusk, but once on the road and she would feel
safe.

"Hey there!" came a call in a familiar voice.

The boys were just coming out of the woods at the far end of the oaks.

"What's your hurry!" demanded Nat.

Dorothy felt like sinking down. The relief was almost as overwhelming
as had been her fear.

"Oh, do hurry!" she called rather feebly. "I am almost dead!"