He loved the woods, and all they contained.

He learned the habits of the wild creatures.

Each deer, each squirrel, each grouse that he killed, taught him some lesson.
He was always up with the lark to watch the sun rise red and grand over the eastern hills, and chase away the white mist from the valleys.

Even if he was not hunting, or roaming the woods, if it was necessary for him to lie low in camp awaiting Wetzel's return, he was always content.

Many hours he idled away lying on his back, with the west wind blowing softly over him, his eye on the distant hills, where the cloud shadows swept across with slow, majestic movement, like huge ships at sea.
If Wetzel and Joe were far distant from the cave, as was often the case, they made camp in the open woods, and it was here that Joe's contentment was fullest.