“Sh!”

No ear but one trained to the secrets of the still places could have detected a sound.

“They are coming!  Yes, not the many—­it is Jed!  Come!  While you slept I carried a right many things to the rhododendron slick back of the house!  See, push over the chair—­leave the door open like you’d gone away before the storm.”

Quickly and silently Nella-Rose suited action to word.  Truedale watched her like one bewitched.  “Now!” She took him by the hand and the next minute they were out on the wet, sodden leaves; the next they were crouching close under the bushes where even the heavy rain had not penetrated.  Half-consciously Truedale recognized some of his property near by—­his clothing, two or three books, and—­yes—­it was his manuscript!  The white roll was safe!  How she must have worked while he slept.

Once only did she speak until danger was past.  Nestling close in his arms, her head upon his shoulder, she breathed: 

“If they-all shoot, we’ll die together!”

The unreality of the thing gradually wore upon Truedale’s tense nerves.  If anything was going to happen he wanted it to happen!  In another half-hour he meant to put an end to the farce and move his belongings back to the cabin and take Nella-Rose home.  It was a nightmare—­nothing less!

“Sh!” and then the waiting was over.  Two dark figures, guns ready, stole from the woods behind White’s cabin.  Where were the dogs?  Why did they not speak out?—­but the dogs were trained to be as silent as the men.  They were all part and parcel of the secret lawlessness of the hills.  In the dim light Truedale watched the shadowy forms enter Jim’s unlocked cabin and presently issue forth, evidently convinced that the prey was not there—­had not been there!  Then as stealthy as Indians they made their way to the other cabin—­Truedale’s late shelter.  They kept to the bushes and the edge of the woods—­they were like creeping animals until they reached the shack; then, standing erect and close, they went in the doorway.  So near was the hiding place of Truedale and his companion that they could hear the oaths of the hunters as they became aware that their quarry had escaped.

“He’s been here, all right!” It was Jed Martin who spoke.

“I reckon he’s caught on,” Peter Greyson drawled, “he’s makin’ for Jim White.  White ain’t more’n fifteen miles back; we can cut him off, Jed, ’fore he reaches safety—­the skunk!”

Then the two emerged from the cabin and strode boldly away.

“The others!” whispered Truedale—­“will they come?”

“Wait!”

There was a stir—­a trampling—­but apparently the newcomers did not see Martin and Greyson.  There was a crackling of underbrush by feet no longer feeling need of caution, then another space of silence before safety was made sure for the two in the bushes.

At last Truedale dared to speak.

“Nella-Rose!” He looked down at the face upon his breast.  She was asleep—­deeply, exhaustedly asleep!