khaki uniform of his American comrades, his troubles
would be over.

But if the most important thing was concealment, another problem almost
as important was the question of food. He had had only the scantiest
kind of nourishment since his escape from the prison yard. The last
crumb had been eaten that morning. He had no weapon of any kind with
which to shoot squirrels or rabbits or birds. And he did not dare to
approach a cottage for fear that he might again be placed in the power
of his enemies.

But he was not yet starving, though exceedingly hungry, and he kept on
in the woods, intent upon putting as many miles behind him as possible
before he stopped for rest.

Far up in the wooded hills he came in sight of a little cabin. It was
a dilapidated little shack that perhaps had been used by hunting
parties in happier days. It seemed to be entirely deserted, but he was
wary and lay in the bushes for an hour or more, watching it closely for
any sign of life. Only when he felt perfectly sure that there was no
one about, did he creep up to the door and look in.

He drew a sigh of relief when he saw that it was indeed uninhabited.
Not only that, but there was no evidence that any one had visited it of
late. There was no sign of a path and the bushes had grown up close to
the door. One of the hinges of the door had rusted away and the door
sagged heavily upon the other.

There was absolutely nothing in the hut except a rough board table and
a three-legged stool. Tom searched about eagerly in the hope that he
might find some food left by its last occupants. He was not
particular, and even mouldy crusts would have been eagerly welcomed.
But even in this he was doomed to be disappointed.

Still it was something to be under a roof. Human beings once had been
there, and the fact seemed to bring him in contact with his kind. And
even this rough shelter was better than being compelled to sleep in the
woods. If he had only had something to still the terrible gnawing at
his stomach he would have been content--at least as far as he could be
contented while a fugitive, with his life and liberty in constant
danger.

After he had rested a while he went outside, with the double purpose of
watching for enemies and trying to find something to eat. He fashioned
a club from a stout branch and made several attempts to get a squirrel
or a bird by hurling it at them. But the weapon was too clumsy and
they were too quick,