Fanny Gilkan and Howat proceeded more slowly now, but still they went directly, without hesitation, in the direction they chose.  They crossed a log felled over a shallow, hurrying creek; the course grew steeper, more densely wooded.  “Ruscomb Manor,” Fanny pronounced over her shoulder.  “Since a long way back,” he agreed.  Finally a sharper, stationary clamour announced that the object of the hunt had been achieved, and a raccoon treed.  They made their way to the dim illumination cast on moving forms and a ring of dogs throwing themselves upward at the trunk of a tree.  There was a concerted cry for “Ebo,” and a wizened, grey negro in a threadbare drugget coat with a scarlet handkerchief about his throat came forward and, kicking aside the dogs, commenced the ascent of the smooth trunk that swept up to the obscure foliage above.  There was a short delay, then a violent agitation of branches.  A clawing shape shot to the ground, struggled to its feet, but the raccoon was instantly smothered in a snarling pyramid of dogs.

Howat Penny was overwhelmingly weary.  He had tramped all day, since before morning; while now another dawn was approaching, and the hunters were at least ten miles from the Furnace.  He would have liked to stay, sleep, where he was; but the labour of preparing a proper resting place would be as great as returning to Shadrach.  Besides, Fanny Gilkan was with him, with her new, cautious regard for the world’s opinion.  They stood silent for a moment, under a fleet dejection born of the hour and a cold, seeping mist of which he became suddenly conscious.  The barrel of his gun was wet, and instinctively he wiped off the lock.  Two men passing brushed heavily against him and stopped.  “Who is it,” one demanded, “John Rajennas?  By God, it’s a long way back to old Shadrach with splintering shoes.”  A face drew near Howat, and then retreated.  “Oh, Mr. Penny!  I didn’t know you were up on the hunt.”  It was, he recognized, one of the coaling men who worked for Dan Hesa.  The other discovered Fanny Gilkan.  “And Fanny, too,” the voice grew inimical.  The men drew away, and a sharp whispering fluctuated out of the darkness.

“Come,” Howat Penny said sharply; “we must get back or stay out here for the rest of the night.  I don’t mind admitting I’d like to be where I could sleep.”  She moved forward, now tacitly taking a place behind him, and he led the return, tramping doggedly in the shortest direction possible.

The hollows and stream beds were filled with the ghostly mist, and bitterly chill; the night paled slightly, diluted with grey; there was a distant clamour of crows.  They entered the Furnace tract by a path at the base of the rise from where they had started.  On the left, at a crossing of roads, one leading to Myrtle Forge, the other a track for the charcoal sleds, a blacksmith’s open shed held a faint smoulder on the hearth.  The blast from Shadrach Furnace rose perpendicular in the still air.