Not a breath of air was stirring as yet; but there was the
promise of wind in that cloud. The still leaves on the bushes,
the absence of bird life overhead, the lazy drone of insects,
portended a swift change soon. Nan was weather-wise enough to
know that.
She panted on, stumbling through the loose sawdust, but stumbling
equally in the ruts; for the way was very rough. This road was
lonely enough at best; but it seemed more deserted than ever now.
A red fox, his tail depressed, shot past her, and not many yards
away. It startled Nan, for it seemed as though something
dreadful was about to happen and the fox knew it and was running
away from it.
She could not run as fast as the fox; but Nan wished that she
could. And she likewise wished with all her heart that she would
meet somebody.
That somebody she hoped would be Tom. Tom was drawing logs from
some point near, she knew. A man down the river had bought some
timber and they had been cut a few weeks before. Tom was drawing
them out of the swamp for the man; and he had mentioned only that
morning at breakfast that he was working within sight of the
sawdust tract and the corduroy road.
Nan felt that she would be safe with big, slow Tom.
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