THE DANGEROUS ROAD
The road led in the general direction of Lee's army and Harry knew that
if he followed it long enough he was bound to reach his commander, but
the two words "long enough" might defeat everything. Undoubtedly a
Federal force was near, or the farmer and his wife would not be
signaling from the roof of their house.
A plucky couple they were and he gave them all credit, but he was aware
that while he had secured breakfast from them they had put the wolves
upon his trail. There were high hills on both the right and left of
the road, and, as he galloped along he examined them through his
glasses for flags answering the signal on the house. But he saw
nothing and the thickness of the forest indicated that even if the
signals were made there it was not likely he could see them.
Now he wisely restrained the speed of his horse, so full of strength
and spirit that it seemed willing to run on forever, and brought him
down to a walk. He had an idea that he would soon be pursued, and then
a fresh horse would be worth a dozen tired ones.
The road continued to run between high, forested hills, splendid for
ambush, and Harry saw what a danger it was not to have knowledge of the
country. He understood how the Union forces in the South were so often
at a loss on ground that was strange to them.
The road now curved a little to the left, and a few hundred yards ahead
another from the east merged with it. Along this road the forest was
thinner, and upon it, but some distance away, he saw bobbing heads in
caps, twenty, perhaps, in number. He knew at once that they were the
enemy, called by the signal, and leaning forward he spoke in the ear of
his good horse.
"You and I haven't known each other long," he said, "but we're good
friends. I paid honest and sufficient money for you, when I could have
ridden away on you without paying a cent. I know you have a powerful
frame and that your speed is great. I really believe you're the
fastest runner in all this part of the state. Now, prove it!"
The horse stretched out his neck, and the road flew behind him, his
body working like a mighty machine perfectly attuned, even to its
minutest part. Harry's words had met a true response. He heard a cry
on the cross road, and the bobbing heads came forward much faster.
Either they had seen him or they had heard the swift beat of his
horse's hoofs. Loud shouts arose, but he saw the uniforms of the men,
and he knew that they belonged to the Northern army.
He went past the junction of the roads, as if he were flying, but he
was not a bit too soon, as he heard the crack of rifles, and bullets
struck in the earth behind him. He knew that they would follow, hang
on persistently, but he had supreme confidence in the speed and
strength of his horse, and youth rode triumphant. It was youth more
than anything else that made him raise himself a little in his saddle,
look back to his pursuers and fling to them a long, taunting cry, just
as Henry Ware more than once had taunted his Indian pursuers before
disappearing in a flight that their swiftest warriors could not match.
But the little band of Union troopers clung to the chase. They too had
good horses, and they knew that the man before them was a Southern
messenger, and in those hot July days of 1863 all military messages
carried on the roads north of the Potomac were important. The fate of
an army or a nation might turn upon any one of them, and the lieutenant
who led the little Union troop was aware of it. He was a man of
intelligence and a consuming desire to overtake the lone horseman lay
hold of him. He knew, as well as any general, that since Gettysburg the
fate of the South was verily trembling in the balance, and the
slightest weight somewhere might decide the scales. So he resolved to
hang on through everything and the chances were in his favor. It was
his own country. The Federal troops were everywhere, and any moment he
might have aid in cutting off the fugitive.
When Harry eased his horse's flight he saw the troop, very distant but
still pursuing, and he read the mind of the Union leader. He was
saving his mounts, trailing merely, in the hope that Harry would
exhaust his own horse, after which he and his men would come on at
great speed.
Harry looked down at his horse and saw that he was heaving with his
great effort. He knew that he had made a mistake in driving him so
hard at first, and with the courage of which only a young veteran would
have been capable he brought the animal almost to a walk, and
resolutely kept him there, while the enemy gained. When they were
almost within rifle shot he increased his speed again, but he did not
seek for the present to increase his gain.
As long as their bullets could not reach him his horse should merely go
stride for stride with theirs, and when the last stretch was reached,
he would send forward the brave animal at his utmost speed. His were
the true racing tactics drawn from his native state. He had no doubt
of his ability to leave his pursuers far behind when the time came, but
his true danger was from interference. He too knew that many Union
cavalry troops were abroad, and he watched on either flank for them as
he rode on. At the crest of every little hill he swept the whole
country, but as yet he saw nothing but peaceful farmhouses.
The day was clear and bright, not so warm as its predecessors, and he
calculated by the sun that he was going straight toward Lee. He knew
that a great army always marched slowly, and he was able to reckon with
accuracy just how far the Army of Northern Virginia had come since
Gettysburg. He should reach it in the morning, with full information
about the Potomac, and the best place for a crossing.
He arrived at the crest of a hill higher than the others, and saw the
Union troop, about a quarter of a mile behind, stop beside a clump of
tall trees. Their action surprised Harry, who had thought they would
never quit as long as they could find his trail. To his further
surprise he saw one of the men dismount and begin to climb the tallest
of the trees. Then he brought his glasses into play.
He saw the climber go up, up, until he had reached the last bough that
would support him. Then he drew some thing from his pocket which he
unrolled and began to wave rapidly. It was a flag and through his
powerful glasses Harry clearly saw the Stars and Stripes. It was
evident that they were signaling, but when one signals one usually
signals to somebody. His breath shortened for a moment. He believed
that the man in the tree was talking with his flag about the fugitive.
Where was the one to whom he was talking?
He looked to both left and right, searching the fields and the forests,
and saw nothing. Then, as he was sweeping his glasses again in a half
curve he caught a glimpse of something straight ahead that made the
great pulse in his throat beat hard. About a mile in front of him
another man in a tree was waving a flag and beneath the tree were
horsemen.
Harry knew now that the two flags were talking about the Confederate
messenger between. The one behind said: "Look out! He's young, riding
a bay horse and he's coming directly toward you," to which the one in
front replied, "We're waiting. He can't escape us. There are fields
with high fences on either side of the road and if he manages to break
through the fence he's an easy capture in the soft and muddy ground
there."
Harry thought hard and fast, while the two flags talked so
contemptuously about him. The fields were unquestionably deep with mud
from the heavy rains, but he must try them. It was lucky that he had
seen the flags while both forces were out of rifle shot. He decided
for the western side, sprang from his horse and threw down a few rails.
In a half minute he was back on his horse, leaped him over the fence,
and struck across the field.
It had been lately plowed and the going was uncommonly heavy. It would
be just as heavy however for his pursuers, and his luck in seeing their
signals would put him out of range before they reached the field. But
it was a wide field and his horse's feet sank so deep in the mud that
he dismounted and led him. When he was two-thirds of the way across a
shout told him that the two forces had met, and had discovered the ruse
of the fugitive. It did not take much intelligence to understand what
he had done, because he was yet in plain sight, and a few of the
cavalrymen took pot shots at him, their bullets falling far short.
Harry in his excited condition laughed at these attempts. Almost
anything was a triumph now. He shook his fist at them and regretted
that he could not send back a defiant shot.
The cavalrymen conferred a little. Then a part pursued across the
field, and two detachments rode along its side, one to the north and
the other to the south. Harry understood. If the mud held him back
sufficiently they might pass around the field and catch him on the
other side. He continued to lead his horse, encouraging him with words
of entreaty and praise.
"Come on!" he cried. "You won't let a little mud bother you. You
wouldn't let yourself be overtaken by a lot of half-bred horses not fit
to associate with you?"
The brave animal responded nobly, and what had been the far edge of the
field was rapidly coming nearer. Beyond it lay woods. But the
flanking movement threatened. The two detachments were passing around
the field on firm ground, and Harry knew that he and his good horse
must hasten. He talked to him continually, boasting about him, and
together they reached the fence, which he threw down in all haste.
Then he led his weary horse out of the mud, sprang upon his back and
galloped into the bushes.
He knew that the horses passing around the field on firm ground would
be fresh, and that he must find temporary hiding, at least as soon as
he could. He was in deep thickets now and he galloped on, careless how
the bushes scratched him and tore his uniform. The Union cavalry would
surely follow, but he wanted a little breathing time for his horse, and
in eight or ten minutes he stopped in the dense undergrowth. The horse
panted so hard that any one near would have heard him, but there was no
other sound in the thicket. The rest was valuable for both. Harry was
able to concentrate his mind and consider, while the panting of the
horse gradually ceased, and he breathed with regularity. The young
lieutenant patted him on the nose and whispered to him consolingly.
"Good, old boy," he said, "you've brought me safely so far. I knew
that I could trust you."
Then he stood quite still, with his hand stroking the horse's nose to
keep him silent. He had heard the first sounds of search. To his
right was the distant beat of hoofs and men's voices. Evidently they
were going to make a thorough search for him, and he decided to resume
his flight, even at the risk of being heard.
He led the horse again, because the forest was so dense that one could
scarcely ride in it, and he thought, for a while, that he had thrown
off the pursuit, but the voices came again, and now on his left. They
had never relaxed the hunt for an instant. They had a good leader, and
Harry admitted that in his place he would have done the same.
The country grew rougher, being so steep and hilly that it was not easy
of cultivation, and hence remained clothed in dense forest and
undergrowth. Twice more Harry heard the sound of pursuing voices and
hoofs, and then the noise of running water came to his ears. Twenty
yards farther and he came to a creek flowing between high banks, on
which the forest grew so densely that the sun was scarcely able to
reach the water below.
The creek at first seemed to be a bar to his advance, but thinking it
over he led his horse carefully down into the stream, mounted him and
rode with the current, which was not more than a foot deep.
Fortunately the creek had a soft bottom and there was no ringing of
hoofs on stones.
He went slowly, lest the water splash too much, and kept a wary watch
on the banks above, which were growing higher. He did not know where
the creek led, but it offered both a road and concealment, and it
seemed that Providence had put it there for his especial help.
He rode in the bed of the stream fully an hour, and then emerged from
the hills into a level and comparatively bare country. It was a region
utterly unknown to him, but with his splendid idea of direction and the
sun to guide him he knew his straight course to Lee. The country
before him seemed to be given up wholly to grass, as he noticed neither
corn nor wheat. He saw several farm hands, but decided to keep away
from them. That was no country for the practice of horsemanship by a
lone Confederate soldier, nor did he like to be the fox in a fox hunt.
Yet the fox he was. He chose a narrow road leading between cedars, and
when he had advanced upon it a few hundred yards he heard the sound of
a trumpet behind him, and at the edge of the woods that he had left. He
saw horsemen in blue emerging and he had no doubt that they were the
same men whom he had eluded in the thickets.
"Their pursuit of me is getting to be a habit," he said to himself with
the most intense annoyance. "It's a good thing, my brave horse, that
you've had a long rest."
He shook up the reins and began to gallop. He heard a faint shout in
the distance and saw the troopers in pursuit. But he did not fear them
now. Numerous fences would prevent them from flanking him, and he saw
that the road led on, straight and level. He shook the reins again and
the horse lengthened his stride.
He felt so exultant that he laughed. It would be easy enough now to
distance this Union troop. Then the laugh died suddenly on his lips. A
bullet whistled so near his face that it almost took away his breath.
An elderly farmer standing in his own door had fired it, and Harry
snatched one of the pistols from his own belt, remembering then with
rage that it could not be fired. He shouted to his horse and made him
run faster.
A bullet struck the pommel of his saddle and glanced off. A boy in an
orchard had fired it. A load of bird-shot, a handful it seemed to
Harry, flew about his ears. A bent old man who ought to have been
sitting on a porch in a rocking chair had discharged it from the edge
of a wood. A squirrel hunter on a hill took a pot shot at him and
missed.
Harry was furious with anger. Decidedly this was no place for a
visitor from the South. He did not detect the faintest sign of
hospitality. Men and women alike seemed to dislike him. A powerful
virago hurled a stone at his head, which would have struck him
senseless had it not missed, and a farmer standing by a fence had a
shotgun cocked and ready to be fired as he passed, but Harry, snatching
one of the useless pistols from his belt, hurled it at him with all his
might. It struck the man a glancing blow on the head, felling him as
if he had been shot, and then Harry, thinking quickly, acted with equal
quickness.
He reined in his horse with such suddenness that he nearly shot from
the saddle. Then he leaped down, seized the shotgun from under the
hands of the fallen man, sprang on his horse and was away again,
sending back a cry of defiance.
Harry had never before in his life been so furious. To be hunted thus
by a whole countryside, as if he were a mad dog, was intolerable. It
was not only a threat to one's life, it was also an insult to one's
dignity to be treated as an animal. Although he was armed now the
insult continued. The call of the trumpet sounded almost without
ceasing, and the Union troopers uttered many shouts as do those who
chase the fox, although Harry knew that their cries were intended to
rouse the farmers who might head him off.
The chase grew hotter, but he felt better with the shotgun. It was a
fine double-barreled weapon of the latest make, and he hoped that it
was loaded with buckshot. He was a sharpshooter, and he could give a
good account of any one who came too near.
Yet with the trumpet shrilling continually behind him the huntsmen
gathered fast on either flank. It was yet the day when nearly every
house in America, outside a town, contained a rifle, and bullets fired
from a distance began to patter around Harry and his horse. The
riflemen were too far away to be reached with the shotgun, and it
seemed inevitable to him that in time a bullet would strike him. He
was truly the fox, and he knew that nothing could save him but forest.
It was in his favor that the country was so broken and wooded so
heavily, and fixing his eyes on trees a half-mile ahead he raced for
them. If none of this yelling pack dragged him down he felt sure that
he might escape again in the forest. The trees swiftly came nearer,
but the shots on either flank increased. More than ever he felt like
the fox with the hounds all about him, and just one slender chance to
reach the burrow ahead.
He felt his horse shake and knew that he had been hit. Yet the brave
animal ran on as well as ever, despite the triumphant shout behind,
which showed that he must be leaving a trail of blood. But the woods,
thick and inviting, were near, and he believed that he would reach
them. The horse shook again, much more violently than before, and then
fell to his knees. Harry leaped off, still clutching the shotgun, just
as the brave animal fell over on his side and began to breathe out his
life.
He heard again that shout of triumph, but he was one who never gave up.
He had alighted easily on his feet. The trees were not more than
fifteen yards away and he disappeared among them as bullets clipped
bark and twigs about him.
He breathed a deep sigh of thankfulness when he entered the forest. It
was so dense, and there was so much undergrowth that the horsemen could
not follow him there. If they came on foot, and spread out, as they
must, to hunt him, he had the double-barreled shotgun and it was a
deadly weapon. The fox had suddenly become the panther, alert,
powerful, armed with claws that killed.
Harry went deep into the thickets before he sat down. He had no doubt
that they would follow him, but at present he was out of their sight
and hearing. He felt a mixture of elation and sadness, elation over
his temporary escape, and sadness over the loss of his gallant horse.
But one could not dwell long on regrets at such a time, and, advancing
a little farther, he sat down among the densest bushes that he could
find with the shotgun across his knees.
Now Harry saw that the horse had really done all that it was possible
for him to do. He had brought him to the wood, and within he would
have been a drawback. A man on foot could conceal himself far more
easily. Everything favored him. There were bushes and vines everywhere
and he could be hidden like a deer in its covert.
He looked up at the sun shining through the tops of the trees and saw
that he had kept to his true course. His flight had taken him directly
toward Lee at a much faster pace than he would have come otherwise. The
enemy had driven him on his errand at double speed. He felt that he
could spare a little time now, while he waited to see what the pursuit
would do.
His feeling of exultation was now unalloyed. Deep in the forest with
his foes looking for him in vain, the spirit of Henry Ware was once
more strong within him. He was the reincarnation of the great hunter.
He lay so still, clasping the shotgun, that the little creatures of the
woods were deceived. A squirrel ran up the trunk of an oak six feet
away, and stood fearlessly in a fork with his bushy tail curved over
his back. A small gray bird perched on a bough just over Harry's head
and poured out a volume of song. Farther away sounded the tap tap of a
woodpecker on the bark of a dead tree.
Harry, although he did not move, was watching and listening with
intense concentration, but his ears now would be his surest signals.
He could not see deep in the thickets, but he could hear any movement
in the underbrush a hundred yards away. So far there was nothing but
the hopping of a rabbit. The bird over his head sang on. There was no
wind among the branches, not even the flutter of leaves to distract his
attention from anything that might come on the ground.
He rejoiced in this period of rest, of the nerves, rather than purely
physical. He had been keyed so high that now he relaxed entirely, and
soon lay perfectly flat, but with the shotgun still clasped in his
arms. He had a soft couch. Under him were the dead leaves of last
year, and over him was the pleasant gloom of thick foliage, already
turning brown. The bird sang on. His clear and beautiful note came
from a point directly over his head, but Harry could not see his tiny
body among the leaves. He became, for a little while, more interested
in trying to see him than in hearing his pursuers.
It was annoying that such a volume of sound should come from a body
that could be hidden by a leaf. If a man could shout in proportion to
his own size he might be heard eight to ten miles away. It was an
interesting speculation and he pursued it. While he was pursuing it
his mind relaxed more and more and traveled farther and farther away
from his flight and hiding. Then his heavy eyelids pulled down, and,
while his pursuers yet searched the thickets for him, he slept.
But his other self, which men had thought of as far back as Socrates,
kept guard. When he had slept an hour a tiny voice in his ear, no
louder than the ticking of a watch, told him to awake, that danger was
near. He obeyed the call, sleep was lifted from him and he opened his
eyes. But with inherited caution he did not move. He still lay flat in
his covert, trusting to his ears, and did not make a leaf move about
him.
His ears told him that leaves were rustling not very far away, not more
than a hundred feet. His power of hearing was great, and the forest
seemed to make it uncommonly sensitive and delicate.
He knew that the rustling of the leaves was made by a man walking. By
and by he heard his footfalls, and he knew that he wore heavy boots, or
his feet would not have crushed down in such a decisive manner. He was
looking for something, too, because the footfalls did not go straight
on, but veered about.
Harry was well aware that it was a Union soldier, and that he was the
object of his search. He was a clumsy man, not used to forests,
because Harry heard him stumble twice, when his feet caught on vines.
Nor was any comrade near, or he would have called to him for the sake
of companionship. Harry judged that he was originally a mill hand, and
he did not feel the least alarm about him, laughing a little at his
clumsiness and awkwardness, as he trod heavily among the bushes,
tripped again on the vines, and came so near falling that he could hear
the rifle rattle when it struck a tree. He did not have the slightest
fear of the man, and at last, raising his head, he took a look.
All his surmises were justified. He saw a great hulking youth of heavy
and dull countenance, carrying a rifle awkwardly, his place obviously
around some town and not in the depths of a forest, looking for a wary
enemy, who knew more of the wilderness than he could ever learn in all
his life. Harry saw that he was perspiring freely and that he looked
more like the hunted than the hunter. His eyes expressed bewilderment.
He was obviously lonely and apprehensive, not because he was a coward,
but because the situation was so strange to him.
Besides his rifle he carried a large knapsack, so much distended that
Harry knew it to be full of food. It was this that decided him. A
soldier, like an army, must travel on his stomach, and he wanted that
knapsack. Moreover he meant to get it. He leveled his shotgun and
called in a low tone, but a tone so sharp that it could be heard
distinctly by the one to whom it was addressed:
"Throw up your hands at once!"
The man threw them up so abruptly that the rifle fell from his shoulder
into the bushes, and he turned around, staring face toward the point
from which the command had come. Harry saw at once that he was of
foreign birth, probably. The features inclined to the Slav type,
although Slavs were not then common in this country, even in the mill
towns of the North.
"Are you an American?" asked Harry, standing up.
"All but two years of my life."
"The first two years then, as I see you speak good English. What's
your name?"
"Michael Stanislav."
"Do you think that anybody named Michael Stanislav has the right to
interfere in the quarrel of the Northern and Southern states? Don't
the Stanislavs have trouble enough in the country where the Stanislavs
grow?"
The big youth stared at him without understanding.
"Do you know who I am?" asked Harry, severely.
"The running rebel that we all look for."
"Rebels don't run. Besides, there are no rebels. Anyway I'm not the
man you're looking for. My name is Robin Hood."
"Robin Hood?"
"Yes, Robin Hood! Didn't you ever hear of him?"
"Never."
"Then you have the honor of hearing of him and meeting him at the same
time. As I said, my name is Robin Hood and my trade is that of a
benevolent robber. I lie around in the greenwood, and I don't work.
I've a lot of followers, Friar Tuck and others, but they're away for a
while. They're as much opposed to work as I am. That's why they're my
followers. We're the friends of the poor, because they have nothing we
want, and we're the enemies of the rich because they have a lot we do
want and that we often take. Still, we couldn't get along very well,
if there were no rich for us to rob. It's like taking sugar water from
a maple tree. We won't take too much, because it would kill the tree
and we want to take its sugar water again, and many times. Do you
understand?"
"Yes," replied the big youth, but Harry knew he didn't. Harry
meanwhile was listening keenly to all that was passing in the forest,
and he was sure that no other soldier had wandered near. It was
perhaps partly a feeling of loneliness on his own part that caused him
to linger in his talk with Michael Stanislav.
"Michael," he continued, "you appreciate our respective positions,
don't you?"
"Ah!" said Michael, in a puzzled voice.
"I've explained carefully to you that I'm Robin Hood, and you at the
present moment represent the rich."
"I am not rich. Before I turn soldier I work in a mill at Bridgeport."
"That's all very well, but you can't get out of it by referring to your
past. Just now you are a proxy of the rich, and it's my duty to rob
you."
The mouth of the big fellow expanded into a wide grin.
"You won't rob me," he said. "I have not a cent."
"But I'm going to rob you just the same. Don't you dare to drop a hand
toward the pistols in your belt. If you do I'll blow your head off.
I'm covering you with a double-barreled shotgun. Each barrel contains
about twenty buckshot, and at close range their blast would be so
terrific that you'd make an awful looking corpse."
"I hold up my hands a long time. Don't want to be any kind of a
corpse."
"That's the good boy. Steady now. Don't move a muscle. I'm going to
rob you. It's a brief and painless operation, much easier than pulling
a tooth."
He deftly removed the two pistols and the accompanying ammunition from
the man's belt, placing them in his own. His belt of cartridges he put
on the ground beside the fallen rifle, and then as he felt a glow of
triumph he passed the well-filled knapsack from the stalwart shoulders
of the other to his own shoulders, equally stalwart.
"Is everything in it first class, Michael?" he demanded with much
severity.
"The best. Our army feeds well."
"It's a good thing for you that it's so. Robin Hood is never satisfied
with anything second class, and he's likely to be offended if you offer
it to him. On the whole, Michael, I think I like you and I'm glad you
came this way. But do you care for good advice?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's right. Say 'sir' to me. It pleases my robber's heart. Then,
my advice to you is never again to go into the woods alone. All the
forest looks alike to those who don't know it, and you're lost in a
minute. Besides, it's filled with strange and terrible creatures,
Robin Hood--that's me, though I have some redeeming qualities--the
Erymanthean boar, the Hydra-headed monster, Medusa of the snaky locks,
Cyclops, Polyphemus with one awful eye, the deceitful Sirens, the Old
Man of the Mountain, Wodin and Osiris, and, last and most terrible of
all, the Baron Munchausen."
A flicker of fear appeared in the eyes of the captive.
"But I'll see that none of these monsters hurt you," said Harry
consolingly. "The open is directly behind you, about a mile. Right
about! Wheel! Well done! Now, you won't see me again, but you'll
hear me giving commands. Forward, march! Quit stumbling! No true
forester ever does! Nor is it necessary for you to run into more than
three trees! Keep going! No, don't curve! Go straight ahead, and
remember that if you look back I shoot!"
Michael walked swiftly enough. He deemed that on the whole he had
fared well. The great brigand, Robin Hood, had spared his life and he
had lost nothing. The army would replace his weapons and ammunition
and he was glad enough to escape from that terrible forest, even if he
were driven out of it.
Harry watched him until he was out of sight, and then picking up the
rifle and belt of cartridges he fled on soundless feet deeper into the
forest. Two or three hundred yards away he stopped and heard a great
shouting. Michael, no longer covered by a gun, had realized that
something untoward had happened to him, and he was calling to his
comrades. Harry did not know whether Michael would still call the man
who had held him up, Robin Hood, nor did he care. He had secured an
excellent rifle which would be much more useful to him than a shotgun,
and his course still led straight toward the point where he should find
Lee's army on the march. He felt that he ought to throw away the
shotgun, as two weapons were heavy, but he could not make up his mind
to do so.
A hundred yards farther and he heard replies to Michael's shouts, and
then several shots, undoubtedly fired by the Union troops themselves,
as signals of alarm. He laughed to himself. Could such men as these
overtake one who was born to the woods, the great grandson of Henry
Ware, the most gifted of the borderers, who in the woods had not only a
sixth sense, but a seventh as well? And his great grandson had
inherited many of his qualities.
Harry, in the forest, felt only contempt for these youths of Central
Europe who could not tell one point of the compass from another. He
guided his own course by the sun, and continued at a good pace until he
could hear shouts and shots no longer. Then in the dense woods, where
the shadows made a twilight, he came to a tiny stream flowing from
under a rock. He knelt and drank of the cool water, and then he opened
Michael's knapsack. It was truly well filled, and he ate with deep
content. Then he drank again and rested by the side of the pool.
As he reflected over his journey Harry concluded that Providence had
watched over him so far, but there was much yet to do before he reached
Lee. Providence had a strange way of watching over a man for a while,
and then letting him go. He would neglect no precaution. The forest
would not continue forever and then he must take his chances in the
open.
Still burning with the desire to be the first to reach Lee, he put the
rifle and the shotgun on either shoulder, and set off at as rapid a
pace as the thickets would permit. But he soon stopped because a sound
almost like that of a wind, but not a wind, came to his ears. There
was a breeze blowing directly toward him, but he paid no attention to
it, because to him most breezes were pleasant and friendly. But the
other sound had in it a quality that was distinctly sinister like the
hissing of a snake.
Harry paused in wonder and alarm. All his instincts warned him that a
new danger was at hand. The breath of the wind suddenly grew hot, and
sparks carried by it blew past him. He knew, in an instant, that the
forest was on fire behind him and that tinder dry, it would burn fast
and furious. Changing from a walk to a run, he sped forward as swiftly
as he could, while the flames suddenly sprang high, waved and leaped
forward in chase.