as the horses began to mount higher. Once the gleaming eyes of a catamount struck fire from a neighboring tree branch as they passed, and once the distant howl of a wolf caused the horse, Dulcie, to shy a little and quiver beneath Mehitable. But for the most part only the sound of rolling stones cast aside by the hoofs of the horses and the creak and lurch of the cart broke the somber silence.
At last Squire Condit halted, in a low murmur, the little band of refugees.
"'Tis about here," he said, looking keenly at the giant pine trees that stood sentinel upon the very ridge of the mountain, which they had now reached. "'Tis just beyond these great pines that Parson Chapman told me he had fashioned a rude hut which, in case of alarm, we were to use. Yes, see!" He leaped from his horse to stride forward and pace a rough twenty feet from one of the pine trees. "Here is the opening to the forest depths!"
He parted the thick underbrush to disclose a narrow path.
"Think ye the cart can get through that opening, Samuel?" asked Mistress Condit, peering at it doubtfully as it stood revealed beneath the bright starlight.
"'Tis only an ambush, cleverly contrived by Parson Chapman," answered the Squire triumphantly. With one sweep of his arm he pushed aside the sticks and bushes which had been placed there to hide the path.
So the cart passed jokingly upon its way along the mountain ridge where, had it been daylight, New York
