If Ida made a misstep—­if she went down in a heap—­Betty was pretty sure that she, herself, would be hurt.  She retained a tight grip upon the reins.  The mare was no velvet-mouthed animal.  Betty doubted if she had the strength in her arms to pull the creature down to a walk now that she was started.

The instructions Mrs. Candace had given the girl pointed to a descent into the valley for some miles, and almost by a direct road, and then around a sharp turn and up the grade by a branch road to the village where Dr. Pevy lived.  Betty was sure she would not lose her way; the question was, could she cling to the saddle and keep the mare on her feet until the first exuberance of Ida’s spirit was controlled?  The condition of the road did not so much matter, for once the mare found that she did not slip on the crust she trod the way firmly and with perfect confidence.

“She is a dear—­she undoubtedly is,” Betty thought.  “But I feel just as though I were being run away with by a steam engine and did not know how to close the throttle or reverse the engine.  Dear me!”

She might well say “dear me.”  Uncle Dick would surely have been much worried for her safety if he could know what she was doing.  Betty by no means appreciated in full her danger.

Indeed, she scarcely thought of danger.  Ida Bellethorne seemed as sure-footed as a chamois.  Her calks threw bits of ice-crust behind her, and she never slipped nor slid.  There was nobody on the road.  There was not even the mark of a sledge, although along the ditch were the shuffling prints of snowshoes.  Some pedestrian had gone this way in the early morning.

This was not the road by which Betty and her friends had been transported by Mr. Jaroth.  There was not even a hut like Bill Kedders’ beside it.  In places the thick woods verged right on the track on either side and in these tunnels it seemed to be already dusk.

It flashed into Betty’s mind that there might be savage animals in these thick woods.  Bears, and wild cats, and perhaps even the larger Canadian lynx, might be hovering in the dark wood.  It would not be pleasant to have one of those animals spring out at one, perhaps from an overhanging limb, as the little mare and her rider dashed beneath!

“Just the same,” the girl thought, “at the pace Ida Bellethorne is carrying me, such wild animals couldn’t jump quick enough to catch me.  Guess I needn’t be afraid of them.”

There were perils in her path—­most unexpected perils.  Betty would never have even dreamed of what really threatened her.  For fifteen minutes Ida Bellethorne galloped on and the girl knew she must have come a third of the way to Dr. Pevy’s office.

The mare’s first exuberance passed.  Of her own volition she drew down to a canter.  Her speed still seemed almost phenominal to the girl riding her, but Betty began to feel more secure in the saddle.

They reached the top of a steep hill.  The hedge of tall pines and underbrush drew closer in on either side.  The road was very narrow.  As the mare started down the incline it seemed as though they were going into a long and steep chute.