the wilderness furnished no more formidable antagonist than Henry Ware,
and Paul Cotter, too, was both brave and skillful.

But the warriors passed, and the black wilderness hid them. Henry watched
a little bush that one had brushed against, swinging in the moonlight
with short jerks that became shorter until it grew quite still again. But
he did not yet go. He and Paul knew that they must not move for many
minutes. A warrior might turn on his track, see their risen forms, and
with his cry bring the whole band back again. They yet lay motionless and
still, while the moonlight filtered through the leaves and the silence of
the forest endured. Henry rose at last, and led the way again.

"They are certainly beating up the woods for us," said he, "and I think
that party will stumble right upon the little hollow where we rested. It
was well we moved."

They increased their southward pace, and when it was scarcely two hours to
the dawn Henry said:

"I know of a good place in which to rest, and a still better place in
which to fight if they should find us."

"Where?"

"Holt's lone cabin. It's less than half a mile from here. I've had it in
mind."

Paul did not know what he meant by Holt's lone cabin, but he was always
willing to trust Henry without questions. His imagination, flowering at
once into splendor, depicted it as some kind of an impregnable fortress.