ts of the land, but
its lower stretches and the ravines themselves were shrouded with
closely growing bushes rising higher than a man's waist, and, where
they grew rankest, higher than a man's head. In summer, when trees and
bushes were covered with leaves, this underbrush offered cover where a
man could conceal himself perfectly; now, in the early spring before
the trees had even budded, that man would be visible for some distance
by day and nearly as clearly visible by night if the headlights of the
motor-cars chanced to shine into the woods.

Eaton, fully realizing this chance as he left Harriet, had plunged
through the bushes to conceal himself in the ravine. The glare from
the burning bridge lighted the ravine for only a little way; Eaton had
gained the bottom of the ravine beyond the point where this light would
have made him visible and had made the best speed he could along it
away from the lights and voices on the road. This speed was not very
great; his stockinged feet sank to their ankles in the soft mud of the
ravine; and when, realizing that he was leaving a trace easily followed
even by lantern-light, he clambered to the steep side and tried to
travel along its slope, he found his progress slower still. In the
darkness he crashed sometimes full against the tree-trunks; bushes
which he could not see seized and held him, ripping and tearing at his
clothes; invisible, fallen saplings tripped him, and he stepped into
unseen holes which threw him headlong, so that twice he rolled clear to
the bottom of the ravine with fierce, hot pains which nearly deprived
him of his senses shooting through his wounded shoulder.

When he had made, as he thought, fully three quarters of a mile in this
way and must be, allowing for the winding of the ravine, at least half
a mile from his pursuers, he climbed to the brink of the bank and
looked back. He was not, as he had thought, half a mile from the road;
he was not a quarter of a mile; he could still see plainly the lights
of the three motor-cars upon the road and men moving in the flare of
these lights. He was certain that he had recognized the figure of
Avery among these men. Pursuit of him, however, appeared to have been
checked for the moment; he heard neither voices nor any movement in the
woods. Eaton, panting, threw himself down to recover breath and
strength to think.

There was no question in Eaton's mind what his fate would be if he
surrendered to, or was