was set in firm resolve, and Henry knew that he would never yield.
After a while the dark began to lighten, and Henry stopped short in surprise. Paul was walking in such automatic fashion that he almost ran against him before he stopped. Henry pointed with a long forefinger to a red spot deep in the forest.
"See that?" he said.
"Yes, I guess it's the sun rising," said Paul, who was staggering a little, and who saw through a cloud, as it were.
Henry looked at him and laughed.
"The sun!" he said. "Well, Paul, it's the first time I ever knew the sun to rise in the west."
"The sun's likely to do anything out here where we are," rejoined Paul.
"That's a fire, a camp fire, Paul," said Henry, "and I'm thinking it must be made by white men."
"White men! Friends!" exclaimed Paul. He stood up straight, and his eyes grew brighter. An hour or two ago it had scarcely seemed possible to him that they should ever see white faces again.
"It's only my belief," said Henry. "We've got to make sure. Now, you wait here, Paul, and I'll do a little bit of scouting. Sit down among those bushes there and I'll be back soon."
Paul was fully content to do what Henry said. He found a good place in a thick clump of underbrush, and sank down easily. He would have been quite willing to lie down, because he was terribly tired and sleepy, but with an effort he held himself to a sitting posture and watched Henry. He was conscious of a vague admiration as the tall form of his comrade went forward swiftly, making no noise and hiding itself so quickly in the forest that he could not tell where it had gone.
Then Paul was conscious of a great peace, and a heavy tugging at his eyelids. Never in his life before was he so tired and sleepy. The last raindrop was gone, and the bushes and grass were drying in the gentle wind. A fine golden sun was bringing with it a silver dawn, and a pleasant warmth stole all through him. His head sank back a little more and his elbow found a soft place in the turf.
The boy, with his half-closed eyes and pale face, was not alone as he lay there among the bushes. Little neighbors came and looked at the newcomer. A hare gazed solemnly at him for a moment or two, and then hopped solemnly away. A bluebird flew down to the very tip of a bough, surveyed him at leisure, and then flew off in search of food. Neither hare nor bird was scared. Tiny creeping things scuttled through the grass, but the boy did not move, and they scuttled on undisturbed.
Paul was just sinking away into a pleasant unknown land when a shout brought him back to earth. He sprang to his feet, and there was Henry returning through the forest.
"Friends, Paul! Old friends!" he cried. "Up with you and we'll pay 'em a surprise visit!"
Paul shook his head to clear his thoughts, and followed Henry. Henry walked swiftly now, not seeming to care whether or not he made noise, and Paul followed him toward the fire, which now rapidly grew larger.
CHAPTER VI
THE BATTLE ON THE HILL
Six men were sitting around a camp fire, and they showed every sign of comfort and cheerfulness. It was a big fire, a glowing fire, a warm fire, and it took all trace of damp from the rain or cold of the autumn morning. They were just having breakfast, and their food was buffalo hump, very tender as it came from beneath a huge bed of red-hot embers.
The men seemed to have no fear of an enemy, perhaps because their fire was in an open space, too far from the forest for the rifle shot of an ambushed foe to reach them. Perhaps, too, they felt security in their numbers and valor, because they were certainly a formidable-looking party. All were stalwart, dressed in wilderness fashion—that is, in tanned deerskin—and every one carried the long, slender-barreled Kentucky rifle, with knife and hatchet at his belt. There was Tom Ross, the guide, of middle years, with a powerful figure and stern, quiet face, and near him lounged a younger man in an attitude of the most luxurious and indolent ease, Shif'less Sol Hyde, who had attained a great reputation for laziness by incessantly claiming it for himself, but who was nevertheless a hunter and scout of extraordinary skill. Jim Hart, a man of singular height and thinness, whom Sol disrespectfully called the "Saplin'"—that is, the sapling, a slim young tree—was doing the cooking. The others were typical frontiersmen—lean, big of build, and strong.
The shiftless one curled himself into an easier position against a log, and regarded with interest a particularly juicy piece of the buffalo hump that lay on the grass some distance from him.
"Say, Saplin'," he drawled, "I wish you'd bring me that piece o' hump. I think it would just suit my teeth."
"Git it yourself," replied Saplin' indignantly. "Do you think I'm goin' to cook for a lazy bag o' bones like you, an' then wait on you, too?"
"Well, I think you might," said Shif'less Sol sorrowfully. "I'm pow'ful tired."
"If I wuz to wait on you when you wuz tired, I'd wait on you all my life."
"Which 'ud he puttin' yourself to a mighty good use," said Sol tolerantly. "But if you won't bring it to me, I reckon I'll have to go after it."
He rose, with every appearance of reluctance, and secured the buffalo meat. But he stood with it in his hand and regarded the forest to the east, from which two figures were coming. Ross had already seen them, but he had said nothing. The keen eyes of the shiftless one were not at fault for a moment.
"Paul Cotter an' Henry Ware," he said.
"Yes," said Tom Ross.
"And Paul's just about done up."
"Yes," said Tom Ross.
"Looks like they've had a big fight or a big run, one or t'other or both."
"Yes," said Tom Ross.
Then all went forward to meet the two boys, so well known to them. Paul was staggering a little, and there was a high color, as of fever, in his face, but Henry showed signs of neither fatigue nor excitement.
"We're glad to find you," said Henry briefly.
"We're glad, awful glad!" began Paul, with more fervor; but he suddenly reeled, and everything grew dim about him. Shif'less Sol caught him.
"Here, Paul," he said, "stand up. You're a heavy weight for a tired man to hold."
His words were rough, but his tone was kindly. Paul, all his pride aroused, made a great effort and stood straight again. Slowly the world about him swam back, into its proper position.
"Who said I wasn't standing up?" he asked.
"Nobody," replied Shif'less Sol; "but if I'd been through what I reckon you've been through, I'd fall flop on the ground, an' Jim Hart would have to come an' feed me or I'd starve to death right before his eyes."
Paul laughed, and then he felt more like himself. Ross, too, had been regarding him with sympathy, but he glanced inquiringly at Henry.
"You've had it hot an' hard?" he said.
"Yes," replied the boy laconically; "we've run against Shawnees, and about everything that could has happened to us."
"Then it's fire, warmth, meat, rest, an' sleep for Paul right away," said Ross.
Henry nodded.
Paul was looking at the fire, which seemed to him the most glorious one ever built, and he did not notice anything more until he was lying beside it, stretched on a blanket, and eating the very piece of tender buffalo meat that Shif'less Sol had coveted for himself. Despite his relaxed and half-dreamy condition, his imagination leaped up at once to magnificent heights. All danger and hardship were gone. He was surrounded by a ring of dauntless friends, and the fire glowed splendidly.
Shif'less Sol sat down near him, and regarded him with the deepest sympathy, mingled with a certain amount of envy.
"Paul,"