"Looks mighty like there might be rain in that cloud," he thought.
"I've got matches, but I'd hate to have to spend a wet night out in
these woods."

The gun went down and the black south-easterly haze came up, with
semi-tropical celerity. Ralph was still in the lonely region of forest
and crag, when a whirl of wind struck him in the face and a few drops
spattered on the leaves of the chestnuts around.

The brief southern twilight was blotted out almost at once by the
overspreading clouds, and young Granger became conscious that he had
somehow missed the trail.

"That is odd," he muttered. "It was just here a minute ago."

Something like a yellow gleam caught his eye, and he plunged along in
its course in a reckless manner, for he was nervous with anxiety.

Being in a strange region, with a storm on the point of breaking, was
not pleasant even to older nerves, when added to the natural terrors of
a night in the woods, without any other company than one's brooding
thoughts.

"Hello! What's this?" he exclaimed as he almost ran against an
obstruction that looked not unlike a steep house roof.

The odor of tar and resin pervaded the air. Ralph groped his way
around it, feeling here and there with his hands.