Patience did not reply. When she at last spoke, it was to suggest that they make their way up the far side of the slope that they might be sure the ones they followed were camping there. Wearily they followed the creek and at last began the ascent.
Not a word was spoken as they trudged cautiously forward. Every care was taken not to cause the least sound. Hounds, they knew all too well, have sharp ears. So, darting from bush to bush and from tree to tree, they came at last to a spot directly over a cliff where, by parting branches, they might get a fair view of the deserted cabin and the clearing.
“Someone there,” whispered Marion. “See! There’s a wisp of smoke curling from the chimney.”
For a time they sat silently intent.
Suddenly Marion’s heart stopped beating! Had she caught the low cry of a child? Yes, there it was again.
“Hallie,” she whispered, springing to her feet. “I must go to her.”
“No! No!” Patience whispered tensely. “They are bad men. They would kill you.”
“But Hallie.” The girl’s heart was wrung by the thought of the innocent child’s suffering.
“Hallie’s all right for now. You have heard her cry in that way often before. It’s just a fretful, sleepy cry. She will soon fall asleep.”
It was true. Even as they waited and listened the crying ceased and over the hills and the forest there fell the hush of night.