d 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