one, turning due west, ran
with amazing speed through the forest.

CHAPTER VII

THE FOREST POETS

Henry and the shiftless one knew that they had drawn danger upon
themselves, but they had nothing to regret. The pursuit by the wolves
had become intolerable. In time it was bound to unsettle their nerves,
and it was better to take the risk from the warriors.

"How far away would you say that war whoop was?" asked Henry.

"'Bout a quarter o' a mile but it'll take 'em some little time to find
our trail. An' ef you an' me, Henry, can't leave 'em, ez ef they wuz
standin', then we ain't what we used to be."

Presently they heard the war cry a second time, although its note was
fainter.

"Hit our trail!" said the shiftless one.

"But they can never overtake us in the night," said Henry. "We've come
to stony ground now, and the best trailers in the world couldn't follow
you and me over it."

"No," said the shiftless one, with some pride in his voice. "We're not
to be took that way, but that band an' mebbe more are in atween us an'
our fine house in the cliff, an' we won't get to crawl in our little
beds tonight. It ain't to be risked, Henry."

"That's so. We seem to be driven in a circle around the place to which
we want to go, but we can afford to wait as well as the Indian army can,
and better. Here's another branch and we'd better use it to throw that
band off the trail."

They waded in the pebbly bed of the brook for a long distance. Then they
walked on stones, leaping lightly from one to another, and, when they
came to the forest, thick with grapevines they would often swing from
vine to vine over long spaces. Both found an odd pleasure in their
flight. They were matching the Indian at his tricks, and when pushed
they could do even better. They knew that the trail was broken beyond
the hope of recovery, and, late in the night, after passing through
hilly country, they sat down to rest.

They were on the slope of the last hill, sitting under the foliage of an
oak, and before them lay a wide valley, in which the trees, mostly oaks,
were scattered as if they grew in a great park. But the grass everywhere
was thick and tall, and down the center flowed a swift creek which in
the moonlight looked like molten silver. The uncommon brightness of the
night, with its gorgeous clusters of stars, disclosed the full beauty of
the valley, and the two fugitives who were fugitives no longer felt it
intensely. Henry wa