Both feet now rested upon the muddy bottom, and he stood there clear of the boat.
The chief did not stop again, and as the fire had burned higher, his features were disclosed more plainly in his restless walk back and forth before the flames.

Henry took a final look at the lofty features, contracted now into a frown, then began to wade among the bushes, pushing his way softly.

This was the most delicate and difficult task of all.

The water must not be allowed to plash around him nor the bushes to rustle as he passed.

Forward he went a yard, then two, five, ten, and his feet were about to rest upon solid earth, when a stick submerged in the mud broke under his moccasin with a snap singularly loud in the silence of the night.
Henry sprang at once upon dry land, whence he cast back a single swift glance.