On a cloudy day it must have been as dark as a pocket down there. Silas couldn't think of anything that would have induced him to stay alone in that gloomy place for five minutes.
"Say, pap," whispered Dan, so suddenly, that his father started and almost dropped his gun, "how long before we'll be abreast of that wood-pile of our'n?"
Silas raised his head long enough to look about him and take a glance at the cliffs above, and then the blood all fled from his face, leaving it as pale as death itself.
"Laws a massy, Danny," he managed to articulate, "we're abreast of it now."
There was something so unnatural in the tones of his father's voice, and in the face he turned on him, that Dan felt the cold chills creeping over him, and it was all he could do to refrain from crying out with terror.
CHAPTER XX. A RUN FOR HOME.
"Yes, sir," repeated Silas, after he had taken another brief look at his surroundings, to make sure that there was no mistake about it; "we're abreast of our wood-pile at this blessed minute, 'cause why—you see that leaning hickory up there on the top of the bluff? Well, I shot a squirrel off'n there about three weeks ago, and that there tree is only a quarter of a mile from the wood-pile. I wish you wouldn't look so scared-like, Dannie. The best part of this mean job is over now, and we ain't seen nothing to be afeard of yet. Look around, and see if you can find anything of that rope. If you can, there's the cave. Go ahead, Dannie, and when you feel yourself getting trembly all over, just say, 'breech-loading bird-guns and j'inted fish-poles,' and that'll put pluck into you."