Nevertheless his imagination, leaping back to the other extreme, made the lone cabin the great fortress that he wished.  And a fortress it was in more senses than one.  Built of heavy logs, securely chinked, the single window and the single door closed with heavy oaken shutters, no bullet could reach them there.  Paul sat down on a puncheon bench, and breathed laboriously, but joyously.  Then he looked with inquiry at Henry.

“It was built by a man named Holt,” said Henry.  “He was either a great fool or a very brave man to come out here and settle alone.  But a month ago, after the Indian wars began, he either became wiser or less brave, and he went into Marlowe with his family, leaving the place just as it is.”

“He left in time,” said Paul.

CHAPTER III

THE LONE CABIN

Henry was deeply thankful for this shelter because he knew how badly it was needed.  He went to the single little window, which sagged half open on hinges made of the skin of the buffalo.  He pushed it back in place, and fastened it, too, with a smaller bar, which he was lucky enough to find lying on the floor.

“Well, Paul, we are here,” he said.

As he spoke he looked keenly and anxiously at his comrade.

“Yes, Henry,” Paul replied.  “Here we are, and mighty glad am I. It’s good to be in a house again after that river.”

Henry noticed at once that his voice was thinner and weaker than usual, and he saw also that the color on Paul’s face was high—­the rest and the little fire in the forest had not been enough.  Again he was deeply grateful for the presence of the cabin.  He looked around, with inquiring eyes that could see everything.  It was dusky in the cabin with both door and window closed, but he observed with especial pleasure, among the abandoned articles, a small iron pot, suitable for cooking purposes, and a large water bowl.  When he summed up all, it seemed to this resourceful son of the wilderness that Fortune had been very kind to them.  Then he looked at Paul and distinctly saw a tremor pass over his frame.

“Paul,” he said, “are you cold?”

“A little,” replied Paul reluctantly.  It hurt his pride to confess that he felt on the verge of physical collapse.

“Then we must have a fire, and I’m going to build it now.”

“Won’t it be dangerous?” asked Paul.  “Won’t it be seen?”

“Oh, no,” replied Henry lightly.  “We are alone in the forest now.”

His tone was convincing to Paul, but Henry himself was aware that they were taking great risks.  Yet they must be taken.

“Now, Paul,” he said cheerfully, “you keep a good watch while I bring in deadwood.  But first we will rake clean the welcoming hearth of our good friends who departed so quickly.”

Ashes and dead coals were lying in the fireplace, and he raked them carefully to one side.  Then he unbarred the door.  The crisp October air rushed into the close, confined space, and it felt very welcome to Henry, but Paul shivered again.