The trail led from the rocky plateau through a narrow ravine to the open ground beyond. Keeping a sharp lookout, Hardy paused in this ravine to don his webs, then took up the trail.
“The man is a bird; he doesn’t web, he flies!” the officer muttered. “I’m pretty fast myself, but he is faster.”
For hours he followed. The sun was casting crimson shadows; the sparse woods grew denser; the short day became the short twilight.
Hardy was strangely tired, but he was not growing cold, though the air was sharpening. It became too dark to distinguish the faint imprint of the webs. Hardy paused, debating whether to build a fire, then walked on, seeking suitable site for night camp.
There appeared to be a clearing ahead. A dark snow-capped smudge sprang before his eyes. “A cabin,” he ejaculated. “I’ll spend the night there.”
For hours a strange lassitude, a sensation of heat; an increasing throbbing headache had been creeping on him.
“What’s the matter with me?” he thought irritably. “Somehow I’m glad to be under a roof to-night.”
There was no yellow winking eye of light in the one window of the squat cabin. The officer approached warily, keeping in the deepest shadows. Apparently the cabin was deserted.
With his finger on the trigger of his gun, he raised the latch on the heavy log-built door, kicked it in swiftly.
His eyes strained through the gloom of the cabin. One swift searching look revealed the tenantless interior.