Unlike Paul, they were living the only life they knew and liked, and had no thoughts of a better.
The lonely boy rose from the rock and walked back toward the pole hut, in which they fastened him every night.

It had become a habit with him now, and he knew that it saved useless resistance and a lot of trouble.

Had he taken a single step toward the forest instead of his own prison hut, a score of watchful eyes would have been upon him.
The twilight melted into the dark, and fires gleamed here and there in the village.

Dusky figures passed before and behind the fires--those of squaws cooking the suppers.

Paul's eyes wandered, idle and unobserving, over the savage scene, and then he uttered a little cry of impatience as a hulking warrior lurched against him.