Again a feeling of apprehension came to Charley, and this time there was something of personal fear about it.  Again Charley recalled the fugitive ranger’s violence of temper, and his evident jealousy of the chief.  And as Charley considered the matter now, he saw that Lumley must have been even more jealous of him, Charley, than he was of the chief.  Now he understood all the prying efforts Lumley had made to learn the size of his pay.  Quite evidently Lumley could not endure to see another man get ahead.  Charley felt sure that it would not be safe for him to meet Lumley.  He resolved to be on his guard every second.  Then he sighed with relief at the thought that Lumley had fled.

But a moment later his face became very grave.  “How do I know that Lumley has fled?” he asked himself.  “To go any distance, he would have to walk along a highway, or ride in a motor-car, or board a train; and in any case he might be seen and traced.  On the other hand, Lumley knows the forest like a book.  He has lived in it for years.  Where else could he so well hope to elude pursuit?” Charley felt certain that Lumley must be somewhere in the forest.

Immediately he got his rifle, filled the magazine, and stood it within reach.  He tried to read, but was too nervous.  Then he thought of the open windows and his light within the cabin.  Any one could see through the windows—­or shoot through them.  Charley put his flash-light in his pocket and blew out his lamp.  The evening was warm, and Charley opened the door and sat down on the sill, leaning against the jamb of the door, and cradling his rifle across his knees.

Soon his eyes became accustomed to the darkness.  From where he sat, Charley could look out over what seemed like infinite stretches of forest.  The moon had not yet risen, and the valleys below him were vast depths of darkness.  Mist floated above, partly obscuring the stars.  A gentle breeze was blowing up here on the mountain top, but Charley knew that down in the valleys the air was like stagnant water.  The whispering of the trees around him was like the quiet breathing of a babe asleep, and the occasional sounds of the forest creatures were no more disturbing than the gentle murmurs of a dreaming child.  Peace enfolded the forest.  It seemed to Charley as though that great, invisible, beneficent Spirit we call God had cradled the forest in His arms as a mother cradles her little ones.  The thought comforted him.  Something of the peace about him crept into his own heart.  He drew a long sigh and sat back.

After a time he began to feel drowsy.  He took his blanket and his rifle, and, closing his cabin door, climbed to the fire-tower.  He closed and bolted the trap-door in the floor of the tower.  For some time he sat on the edge of his bunk, watching the forest.  Behind the eastern mountains the sky began to glow.  The moon was coming up.  In another hour or two, Charley knew, the forest would be flooded with silvery light.  He loved the moonlight on the pines, but he was becoming too sleepy to stay awake to see it.  The moment the moon’s first rays shot over the eastern hilltops, Charley lay back in his bunk, stood his rifle within reach, drew the blankets about him, and was almost instantly asleep.