The next moment found them silently sliding down the mountain. Now pausing, holding their breath to listen, they caught the roar of the hounds, the crash of the men making their way through the brush. Now they came to a dense thicket of briars that tore at their clothes. Luckily they were clad in suits of stout khaki. Now they plunged down a deep ravine that threatened to be their undoing. At last they were up the other side and nearing the cabin.
“Have to work fast!” panted Patience. “Find—find her! Pick her up. Don’t wake her! Don’t let her cry! Then go down the mountain—fast—fast as we can!”
Then they caught sight of the dark bulk of the cabin ahead of them. A faint light shone in the open doorway.
“A—a light—” faltered Marion, drawing her companion back. “Maybe a man has been left behind.”
“Just the fire on the hearth, I guess. Anyway, we have to risk it. C’mon.”
Again they crept forward. Now they were a hundred yards away, now fifty, now twenty-five, and now, with hearts beating wildly, they were skirting the cabin.
Dropping to the ground, Patience crept to the doorway. One glance within and she was up on hands and knees, creeping rapidly forward.
One moment of tense silence and she appeared at the door. In her arms was a large bundle.
“Got—got her,” she breathed. “Now go! Go fast! C’mon.”
Once more they crept forward through the dark. A moment passed, another, and yet another. A hundred yards below the cabin they were making rapid progress in spite of fallen logs, brush and the dark, when Patience suddenly stopped and gripped Marion’s arm.