Don felt his heart pounding at his ribs and the trapper’s great arm pressing downward on him like a heavy weight. He heard the sentry advance and knew that Glen had reached into his belt for something.
Crunch, crunch sounded the footsteps, each louder than the last one. Glen had drawn back his arm and was gathering himself for a spring, when the footsteps ceased. A moment later the two heard them begin again, but now they were growing fainter and fainter.
Glen got softly to his feet and pulled Don upward. Together they hurried forward and did not stop till they reached a clump of trees by the side of what appeared to be a path.
“Do you know where you are?” whispered Glen.
“No,” replied Don.
“Well, this is Cambridge Street. You’ll have to follow it alone. Go carefully, and if you meet anyone—well, don’t let ’em see you; that’ll be best. And now, good-bye, Don. Take good care of your Aunt Martha.”
They shook hands in the darkness, and a moment later Don was alone.
CHAPTER VII
JUD APPLETON
Luck seemed to walk hand in hand with Don after Glen Drake had vanished into the darkness. The boy set out at once along Cambridge Street, walking slowly, pausing frequently, and keeping well at the side of the road, where the shadows were thickest. When he came within sight of the first house he stopped to consider, but the sudden barking of a dog caused him to turn abruptly into the field at the right. He crossed George Street and skirted Beacon Hill. Near Valley Acre he came unexpectedly on a large overhanging rock with two scrub pines growing in front of it; the spot was so sheltered and so fragrant and dry with pine needles that he decided to remain there till dawn.
Aunt Martha was an early riser, and it was well that she was, for shortly before six o’clock the knocker rose and fell heavily three times on the door. She left her stove and hastened to answer the knocks. The next moment she was perhaps the most astonished woman in Boston. “Why—why, Donald!” she cried, and then caught her nephew in her arms.