“Kiss me good-by!” she half-sobbed.
They exchanged kisses, and then they romped away toward the cabin, like thoughtless children. And Dick’s laugh rang loudly through the woods—the wild, elfish laughter that was characteristic of him.
Beside the cabin Old Joe Crowfoot smoked in grim silence.
But within the cabin Frank Merriwell was no longer writing. His chair and table were deserted, and he was gone.
CHAPTER XVIII.
AN INTERRUPTED DEPARTURE.
The night was still and serene, with a large round moon, clear as burnished silver, shedding its light down into Pleasant Valley. Away to the west stood the ragged mountains, with the stars gleaming bright above their snow-capped peaks.
In the Black Woods the shadows were dense. The moonlight sifted down and fell on the front of the little cabin, but the rear of the cabin was in darkness. From the back door moved a form that made no noise, but hastened away as lightly as possible, slipping round into the path. Before plunging into the woods, the form paused and turned back to the cabin, toward which a kiss was tossed.
“Good-by, home! good-by, Felicia!” murmured Dick Merriwell, for Dick it was. “I am driven out, but I’ll come back when he is gone. I am free as the birds, and free I will remain. Good-by.”
Then he turned his back on the cabin and hastened noiselessly along the path.
When he thought how amazed Frank would be in the morning he felt like dancing and shouting with delight.