Once more they started. The stars were almost hidden by the thick interlacing of the forest trees. Alan had long since lost his sense of direction. This space—Eighty-Sixth Street, from the park to Riverside Drive. How different now!
Alan was lost. He followed Lentz. But it seemed that Lentz was bending always too much to the left. Once Alan said:
"That way, isn't it?"
"No. I think not. That is north. This is west."
But to Alan the feeling persisted. They plunged down into a dell, at the bottom of which ran a tiny, purling brook. They waded it.
"Lentz!" he whispered.
They crouched together. There was something close ahead of them in the woods. Figures—unmistakable human figures—stood lurking against a tree off there!
In the silence Alan could almost hear his pounding heart. He was afraid to move; a crackling twig would have sounded like a shot.
A moment. Then there was a rustling ahead. The figures moved. They ran.
The underbrush cracked under them. They had seen Alan and Lentz and were running. They reached, in a few feet, an open space of starlight. Alan saw them clearly.