If he walked on, he might go farther and farther away from the camp, but if he stopped now, while he might not find Henry, Henry would certainly find him.

Any wilderness trail was an open road to his comrade.
He hunted a soft place under one of the trees, and, despising the dew, stretched himself between two giant roots, his rifle by his side.

He was tired and hungry, and he lay for a while staring at the blank undergrowth, but by and by all his troubles and doubts floated away.

The note of the wind was soothing, and the huge roots sheltered him.

His eyelids drooped, a singular feeling of peace and ease crept over him, and he was asleep.
It was yet the intense darkness of early night, and the outline of his figure was lost between the giant roots, but after a while a silver moon brought a gray tint to the skies, and the black bank over the forest began to thin and lighten.