His
shivering became so strong that he was afraid it would turn into a real
chill, and he resolved to seek a roof, if the forest should hold such a
thing.
It was nearly dawn when he saw dimly the outlines of a cabin standing
in a tiny clearing. He believed it to be the hut of a charcoal burner,
and he was resolved to take any risk for the sake of its roof. He
dismounted and beat heavily upon the door with the butt of a pistol.
The answer was so long in coming that he began to believe the hut was
empty, which would serve his purpose best of all, but at last a voice,
thick with sleep, called: "Who's there?"
"I'm lost and I need shelter," Harry replied.
"Wait a minute," returned the voice.
Harry, despite the beat of the rain, heard a shuffling inside, and then,
through a crack in the door, he saw a light spring up. He hoped the
owner of the voice would hurry. The rain seemed to be beating harder
than ever upon him and the cold was in his bones. Then the door was
thrown back suddenly and an uncommonly sharp voice shouted:
"Drop the reins! Throw up your hands an' walk in, where I kin see what
you are!"
Harry found himself looking into the muzzle of an old-fashioned
long-barreled rifle.
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