ades and of what a home the hollow would be to
them too, but he was not troubled about them. Such forest runners as
Shif'less Sol and the others would be sure to find protection from the
storm.

He fell asleep again, and, when he awoke the second time, dawn had come
more than an hour, the rain had stopped and the heavens were burnished
silver. Foliage and grass were already drying fast under a warm western
wind, and Henry, making a breakfast off what was left of his venison,
prepared to go forth. But he was halted by a shambling, dark figure that
appeared on the slope leading down into the ravine. It was the black
bear, and apparently it had some idea of returning to the fine shelter
it had abandoned in such fright the night before. Henry was surprised
that it should have come back. It must have been beaten about much in
the storm, and, either its memory was short, or it had sunk its terrors
in the recollection of the finest den that ever a bear had entered in
the northern part of Kain-tuck-ee.

Henry had a friendly feeling for the bear, which he regarded as an
animal of a companionable disposition, and no enemy, unless driven in a
corner. Since he had to leave the hollow and his comrades would have to
go with him he preferred on the whole that the bear should have it, but
when he stood up in the entrance the animal caught sight of his tall
figure and scrambled away in the forest. His place was taken by the
figure of a huge cat which glared at Henry with yellowish-green eyes,
and then turned back among the trees, filled with rage that the
terrible, strange creature was yet there.

"It seems that I'm still an object of terror," thought Henry, with
amusement. "Now for the eagle and the owl."

A great bird came out of the blue, and sailed on slow wing over the
hollow and ravine. He knew instinctively that it was the bald eagle of
the night before, drawn back with a fascination it could not resist to
the place where it had been frightened so badly. But it did not alight.
Keeping at a good height, it circled about and about and then
disappeared again and for the last time to the eastward.

Henry's eyes searched the opposite slope of the ravine, and at last he
discovered a mournful figure perched on the high bough of an oak. Its
feathers were drooping, its head was bent down until it was almost
buried in the feathers below its neck, and its entire attitude showed
despondency. The owl, too, had come back, but only a part