Paul was at the door when Henry returned, and he did not notice anything
unusual in his comrade's face, but Henry advised that they stay inside
now. Then he looked very carefully to the bars of the door and the window,
and Paul understood. The danger flashed instantly on his mind, but his
strong will prepared him to meet it.

"You think we are likely to be besieged?" he said.

"Yes," replied Henry.

Paul did not ask why Henry knew. It was sufficient that he did know, and
he examined his arms carefully. Then began that long period of waiting so
terrible to a lad of his type. It seemed that the hours would never pass.
The coals on the hearth were dead now, and there was no light at all in
the cabin. But his eyes grew used to the dusk, and he saw his comrade
sitting on one of the benches, one rifle across his lap and the other
near, always listening.

Paul listened, too. The night before the rain had fallen on the board roof
with a soothing sound, but now he could hear nothing, not even the wind
among the trees. He began to long for something that would break this
ominous, deadly silence, be it ever so slight--the sound of a falling nut
from a tree, or of a wild animal stirring in the undergrowth--but nothing
came. The same stillness, heavy with omens and presages, reigned in all
the forest.




CHAPTER IV