THE HUT ON THE ISLET
Henry Ware waited at least a quarter of an hour by the creek on the exact spot at which he and Solomon Hyde, called the shiftless one, had parted, but he knew all the while that his last comrade was not coming.The same powerful and mysterious hand that swept the others away had taken him, the wary and cunning Shif'less Sol, master of forest lore and with all the five senses developed to the highest pitch.Yet his powers had availed him nothing, and the boy again felt that cold chill running down his spine.
Henry expected the omnipotent force to come against him, also, but his instinctive caution made him turn and creep into the thickest of the forest, continuing until he found a place in the bushes so thoroughly hidden that no one could see him ten feet away.There he lay down and rapidly ran over in his mind the events connected with the four disappearances.They were few, and he had little on which to go, but his duty to seek his four comrades, since he alone must do it, was all the greater.Such a thought as deserting them and fleeing for his own life never entered his mind.He would not only seek them, but he would penetrate the mystery of the power that had taken them.
It was like him now to go about his work with calmness and method.To approach an arduous task right one must possess freshness and vigor, and one could have neither without sleep.
His present place of hiding seemed to be as secure as any that could be found.So composing himself he took all chances and sought slumber.Yet it needed a great effort of the will to calm his nerves, and it was a half hour before he began to feel any of the soothing effect that precedes sleep.But fall asleep he did at last, and, despite everything, he slept soundly until the morning.
Henry did not awake to a bright day.The sun had risen, but it was obscured by gray clouds, and the whole heavens were somber.
A cold wind began to blow, and with it came drops of rain.He shivered despite the enfolding blanket.The coming of the morning had invariably brought cheerfulness and increase of spirits, but now he felt depression.He foresaw heavy rain again, and it would destroy any but the deepest trail.Moreover, his supplies of food were exhausted and he must replenish them in some manner before proceeding further.
A spirit even as bold and strong as Henry's might well have despaired.He had found his comrades, only to lose them again, and the danger that had threatened them, and the elements as well, now threatened him, too.An acute judge of sky and air, he knew that the rain, cold, insistent, penetrating, would fall all day, and that he must seek shelter if he would keep his strength.
The Indians themselves always took to cover at such times.
He wrapped the blanket around himself, covering his body well from neck to ankle, putting his rifle just inside the fold, but with his hand upon it, ready for instant use if it should be needed.Then he started, walking straight ahead until he came to the crown of a little hill.The clouds meanwhile thickened, and the rain, of the kind that he had foreseen and as cold as ice, was blown against him.The grass and bushes were reeking, and his moccasins became sodden.Despite the vigorous walking, lie felt the wet cold entering his system.There come times when the hardiest must yield, and be saw the increasing need of refuge.
He surveyed the country attentively from the low hill.All around was a dull gray horizon from which the icy rain dripped everywhere.There was no open country.All was forest, and the heavy rolling masses of foliage dripped with icy water, too.
Toward the south the land seemed to dip down, and Henry surmised that in a valley he would be more likely to find the shelter that he craved.He needed it badly.As he stood there he shivered again and again from head to foot, despite the folds of the blanket.So he started at once, walking fast, and feeling little fear of a foe.It was not likely that any would be seeking him at such a time.The rain struck him squarely in the face now.
Water came from his moccasins every time his foot was pressed against the earth, and, no matter how closely he drew the folds of the blanket, little streams of it, like ice to the touch, flowed down his neck and made their way under his clothing.He could not remember a time when he had felt more miserable.
He came in about an hour to the dip which, as he had surmised, was the edge of a considerable valley.He ran down the slope, and looked all about for some place of shelter, a thick windbreak in the lee of a hill, or an outcropping of stone, but he saw neither, and, as he continued the search, he came to marshy ground.He saw ahead among the weeds and bushes the gleam of standing pools, and he was about to turn back, when he noticed three or four stones, in a row and about a yard from one another, projecting slightly above the black muck.It struck him that the stones would not naturally be in the soft mud, and, his curiosity aroused, he stepped lightly from one stone to another.When he came to the last stone that he had seen from the hard ground he beheld several more that had been hidden from him by the bushes.
Sure now that he had happened upon something not created by nature alone, he followed these stones, leading like steps into the very depths of the swamp, which was now deep and dark with ooze all about him.He no longer doubted that the stones, the artificial presence of which might have escaped the keenest eye and most logical mind, were placed there for a purpose, and he was resolved to know its nature.
The stepping stones led him about sixty yards into the swamp, and the last thirty yards were at an angle from the first thirty.
