Truly it was a noble place! He heard the trickle of the little stream, like a jet of water flowing over marble, and into a marble fountain. Above him was a stone ceiling, carved by the ages, and beneath him was a stone floor made by the same master hand. The leaves were very soft to one so thoroughly hardened of body as he, and the blanket was warm. The roaring of the wind outside was turned to music here, and it mingled pleasantly with the trickle of the little stream.
While the forest runner was capable of tremendous and long exertions, he also had acquired the power of complete relaxation when the time came. Now all of Henry's nerves were quiet, a deep peace came over him quickly, and he slept.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] The fate of Blackstaffe is told in the author's novel, "The Wilderness Road."
CHAPTER X
BESIEGED
Henry did not awake the next day after his usual fashion, that is with all his faculties and senses alert, for the strain on him had been so great that the process required a minute or two. Then he looked around the little fortress which so aptly could be called a hole in the wall. Many dried leaves had been brought in and placed in five heaps, the fifth for Shif'less Sol when he should come. The dressed deer, rolled in leaves, lay at the far end. The little stream was trickling away, singing its eternal pleasant song, and a bright shaft of sunlight, entering, illuminated one part of the cave but left the other in cool dusk.
Silent Tom sat by the side of the door watching, his rifle on his knees. Nothing that moved in the foliage in front of them could escape his eyes. Long Jim was slicing the cooked venison with his hunting knife, and Paul, sitting on his own particular collection of leaves with his back against the wall, was polishing his hatchet. It looked more like a friendly group of hunters than a band fighting to escape death by torture. And despite the real fact the sense of comfort was strong.