When we took up the running, my body, instead of a leaden clog, seemed to be a thing of air and feathers.
It was now hard on midnight, and the moon was high in the heavens.

We bore somewhat to the right, and I judged that our circuit was completed, and that the time had come to steal in front of the Indian route.

The forest thinned, and we traversed a marshy piece, of country with many single great trees.

Often Shalah would halt for a second, strain his ears, and sniff the light wind like a dog.

He seemed to find guidance, but I got none, only the hoot of an owl or the rooty smell of the woodland.
At last we struck a little stream, and followed its course between high banks of pine.