“If that’s what they want,” she said to herself, “why don’t they demand it and let me go?”
She shuddered as she rose. The room was cold. She dreaded facing a night in that cabin.
Having entered the second room, she closed the door softly behind her, then sat down upon the edge of the bed.
After removing her shoes, she glanced up at the smoke blackened ceiling.
“Hole up there,” she mused. “I wonder if.... No, I guess not. Never can tell, though.”
At once her lithe body was in motion. With the agility of a cat, she sprang upon a chair, mounted its back, caught the edge of the opening above and drew herself up into the attic, then dropped noiselessly down upon a beam.
“Whew! Dusty,” she panted.
Five minutes later she found herself staring out into the moonlight. At the upper end of the cabin loft she had found a small door that opened to a view of the mountain side. Having found this she opened it noiselessly. It would be an easy matter to hang by her hands, drop to the ground and then attempt her escape through the brush. This she was about to do when something arrested her—a very small thing. On a narrow level space where the grass had been eaten short by cows or wild creatures, three young rabbits were sporting in the moonlight.
“Shame to spoil their fun,” she whispered to herself. “Time enough.” She seated herself close to the opening.
A moment later she was thankful for the impulse that caused her to wait. In an instant, without a sound, the rabbits disappeared into the brush.