“Sit down in one of those chairs and rest, Paul,” he said, as he pointed to two homemade chairs that stood by the wall.  “I’ll be back in a minute or two.”

Then he shut the door behind him.

“I must take the risk,” he murmured.  It was characteristic of Henry Ware, that in this emergency not even a vague thought of deserting his comrade entered his mind.  And faithful as he was to Paul, Paul would have been as faithful to him.  Both meant to finish together their great errand.

Henry looked around.  The settler had made but little impression upon the surrounding forest.  The trees had been cut away for a distance of fifteen or twenty paces on every side, but the wilderness still curved in solid array about the lone cabin, as if it would soon reclaim its own and blot out the sole sign of man’s intrusion.  Everywhere the foliage glowed with the deep reds and yellows and browns of October, and afar hung a faint bluish haze, like an early sign of Indian summer.  The slight wind among the leaves had a soothing note, and breathed of nothing but peace.  Peace Henry Ware devoutly hoped that it would be.

His task was easy.  The forest all about was littered with the fallen and dead wood of preceding years, and in a few moments he gathered up an armful, with which he returned to the house.  Then he brought in dry leaves, and heaped leaves and wood together in the chimney-place.  He glanced at Paul and saw him trembling.  As if by chance he touched his comrade’s hand, and it felt ice-cold.  But he did not depart one jot from his cheerful manner, all his words showing confidence.

“Now, Paul,” he said, “In less than a minute you’ll see burning before you the finest, warmest, glowingest and most comfortable fire in all the West.”

Paul’s eyes glistened.

Henry drew forth flint and steel, and with a few strokes sent out the vivifying spark.  The dry leaves caught, a light flame formed, the wood caught in its turn, and then the blaze, leaping high, roared up the chimney.  In a moment the hearth was glowing, and presently a bed of deep red coals began to grow.

Paul uttered a low laugh of joy, and spread out his hands to the flames.  The red light glowed across the delicately cut but strong face of the boy, and Henry noticed now that all his color was gone, leaving his features white and drawn.

“Sit a little closer, Paul, a little closer,” he said, still in tones of high, good cheer.  “Isn’t it the most beautiful fire you ever saw?”

“Yes,” said Paul, “it is.  It looks mighty good, but it’s curious that it doesn’t warm me more.”

Henry had closed the door, and it was already very hot in the cabin; but he decided now on another step—­one that would take more time, but it must be taken.

“Paul,” he said, “I’m going out in the woods to look for something, and I may be gone at least half an hour.  Take good care of our house while I’m away.”