"Come, we mustn't lose time!" said Henry, and he suddenly increased his
speed, running so fast that Paul had much to do to keep pace with him.
Paul looked up, and he saw why Henry hastened. The black curtain was
rolled back a little in the east, and a splendid bar of gray appeared just
at the horizon's edge. As Paul looked, it broadened and turned to silver,
and then gold. Paul thought it a very phantasy of fate that the coming of
day, which is like life, should bring such terrors.

They reached a clearing--a high, stony piece of ground--and in its center
Paul saw a little old log cabin, with a heavy open door that sagged on
rude wooden hinges.

"Come," said Henry, and they crossed the clearing to the cabin, pushing
open the door. Paul looked around at the narrow place, and the protecting
walls gave him much comfort. Evidently it had been abandoned in great
haste. In one corner lay a tiny moccasin that had been a baby's shoe, and
no one had disturbed it. On a hook on the wall hung a woman's apron, and
two or three rude domestic utensils lay on the floor. The sight had Its
pathos for Paul, but he was glad that the Holts had gone in time. He was
glad, too, that they had left their house behind that he and Henry might
use it when they needed it most, because he began to be conscious now of
a great weakness, both of body and spirit.

Hooks and a stout wooden bar still remained, and as Henry closed the door
and dropped the bar into place, he exclaimed exultantly:

"They may get us, Paul, but they'll pay a full price before they do it."

"I'd rather they wouldn't get us at all," said Paul.