He judged that they had passed either to east or west, and that he and Paul would not be molested just yet, although he had no confidence in their permanent security.

He saw a deer, but in view of their bountiful supply of pigeons he did not risk a shot, and returned before noon, to find Paul rapidly regaining his strength.

He cooked two more of the pigeons in their precious iron pot, and then they rested.
They left both door and window open now, and they could see forest and sky.

Henry called attention to a slight paleness in the western heavens, and then noted that the air felt damp.
"It will rain to-night, Paul," he said, "and it is a good thing for you, in your weakened condition, that we have a roof." They ate pigeon again for supper, and their wilderness appetites were too sharp to complain of sameness.

They had barred window and door, and let the fire die down to a bed of glowing coals, and while they ate, Paul heard the first big drops of rain strike on the board roof.