the mellow blaze.

Henry examined the forest again, widening his circle, and saw no traces of
an enemy. He judged that they had passed either to east or west, and that
he and Paul would not be molested just yet, although he had no confidence
in their permanent security. He saw a deer, but in view of their bountiful
supply of pigeons he did not risk a shot, and returned before noon, to
find Paul rapidly regaining his strength. He cooked two more of the
pigeons in their precious iron pot, and then they rested.

They left both door and window open now, and they could see forest and
sky. Henry called attention to a slight paleness in the western heavens,
and then noted that the air felt damp.

"It will rain to-night, Paul," he said, "and it is a good thing for you,
in your weakened condition, that we have a roof."

They ate pigeon again for supper, and their wilderness appetites were too
sharp to complain of sameness. They had barred window and door, and let
the fire die down to a bed of glowing coals, and while they ate, Paul
heard the first big drops of rain strike on the board roof. Other drops
came down the chimney, fell in the coals, and hissed as they died. Paul
shivered, and then felt very good indeed in the dry little cabin.

"You were a real prophet, Henry," he said. "Here's your storm."

"Not a storm," said Henry, "but a long, cold, steady rain. Even an Indian
would not want to be out in it, and bear and panther will hunt their
holes."