Paul, in this case, did not object to being left behind, because he had, for the present at least, enough of danger, and he knew that he was better suited to other tasks than the one on which the three great woodsmen were now departing.
Jim Hart was to row them over to the mainland, and they were to signal their return with three plaintive, long-drawn cries of the whip-poor-will.
They departed at the first coming of the dusk with short good-bys, leaving Paul alone on the island.

He stood near the margin under the foliage of a great beech and watched them go.

The boat, as it left a trailing wake of melting silver, became a small black dot at the farther shore, and then vanished.
Paul turned back toward the center of his island, inexpressibly lonely for the while.

Again he was a solitary being in the vast, encircling wilderness, and, in feeling at least, no one was nearer than a thousand miles away.

He walked as swiftly as he could to the cove, where the supper fire still smoldered, and he sought companionship in the light and warmth that came from the bed of coals.