Moreover, he was lost, and the forest told him nothing; he was not like his friend, Henry Ware, born to the forest, the heir to all the primeval instincts, alive to every sight and sound, and able to read the slightest warning the wilderness might give.

Paul Cotter was a student, a lover of books, and a coming statesman.

Fate, it seemed, had chosen that he and Henry Ware should go hand in hand, but for different tasks.
Paul gazed once more around the circle of the glowing forest, and the shadow in his eyes deepened.

Henry and the horses, loaded with powder for the needy settlement, must be somewhere near, but whether to right or left he could not tell.

He had gone to look for water, and when he undertook to return he merely went deeper and deeper into the forest.