"If we find him there, we shall be back before dark.

And we had better hurry," he added, with a glance at the sky.

"For I guess there's a storm coming; feels like it." In a yellow-birch top at a little opening near the old road we saw two partridges eating buds; Addison shot one of them and took it along, slung to his gun barrel.
The faint trail of the sled continued along the old winter road all the way up to the clearing where the negro had lived, and by ten o'clock we came into view of the two log cabins.

Very still and solitary they looked under that cold gray sky.
"No smoke," Addison said.

"But we'll soon know." He called once.