The path was a tortuous one. It led over rocks, and fallen trees, and patches of tangled grass. At times it slipped under canopies of interlaced bushes. Here it was necessary to stoop very low.
A whole hour was spent in traversing this gloomy and boundless place. Brick began to believe that it had no end.
“A little faster, youngster,” urged Bogle, in a gruff voice. “We don’t want to spend the night out of doors. A lovely hiding-place, this, ain’t it? An army could never find us here. If we should turn you loose now, you would wander about till you died of starvation. You could never get out.”
Brick shuddered. He tried hard to quicken his pace. Raikes was moving rapidly, and in a manner that betokened familiarity with the ground.
“It’s not far now,” he called back to Brick. “You’ll soon have supper and sleep.”
Five minutes later the tangle of the undergrowth and young timber ended abruptly on the edge of a small clearing. Here, faintly outlined against the driving snow, stood a low, flat-roofed log cabin.
Raikes grunted with satisfaction as he opened the door. Bogle pushed Brick inside, where the scene was in strong contrast to the outer storm.
The floor was planked. A pile of wood was stacked by the open fireplace. The furniture consisted of two benches and a table. One end of the room was spread with pine boughs, on top of which were blankets.
A blazing fire was quickly built. The sled yielded provisions in plenty, and from a small cupboard Raikes took dishes and cooking utensils.
A little later the three sat down to a tempting supper. The fact that he was a prisoner did not interfere with Brick’s appetite, and he ate heartily.