“Yes,” she said.
He went to the rear door and opened it.
“You must understand,” he told her, standing in the way so that she could not pass him, his rifle in his right hand, his left extended to her, “that I am not going to take any chances of losing you too. You can run faster than I can, and I don’t want you to prove it again. You must give me your hand.”
For an instant she drew away from him, the old distrustful look coming back.
“I would like to kill you!” she said in a way which made him believe that she meant what she said. Then she came to him and slipped her hand into his.
So they went out into the sunlight, side by side, Sheldon’s hand gripping Paula’s tightly.
“Which way?” he asked.
“This way.” She nodded toward the forest closing in about them at the east. That way the madman had gone. She seemed to feel no uncertainty, but walked on briskly, holding as far away from him as she could manage so that her arm stretched out almost horizontally from her shoulder.
So they went on for a hundred yards or so, through the great trees that stood like living columns all about them. Every nerve tense, Sheldon sought to watch her, trusting her as little as she him, and at the same time keep a lookout for her father.
One thing he had missed from the cabin which he had expected to find there. If the madman had killed those wanderers who incurred his kingly displeasure by venturing into his realm, then he must have taken their guns with their other belongings.