Suddenly, as Florence listened, she heard the sharp drawn breath of one in pain.
Who could this be? The person who had leaped through the door? Perhaps, but who was he?
All these wandering thoughts were put to flight by the sudden wail of a child.
“Hit’s Hallie,” said a woman’s voice from the corner. “She hain’t dead. Not near. Betsy Anne, make a light.”
Florence heard a shuffle in that corner, sensed a groping in the dark, then saw a trembling tube of paper thrust against one of the live coals. At once the coal began to brighten.
“Someone blowing it,” she thought.
Five seconds later the tube burst into bright flame, throwing fantastic shadows over the room. A few seconds more and a candle was found. It illumined the cabin with a faint but steady light.
Scarcely knowing whether to flee or stay, Florence glanced hurriedly around her. The giant, having risen to his knees, was bending over the child who was now silently sobbing. The two women were standing nearby and in the corner was the last person Florence had expected to see.
“Bud Wax!” she exclaimed.
Then catching the look of pain on his face, she said with a look of compassion.