Either shore was overhung with heavy forest red with autumn's touch.

Wild fowl occasionally flew over the current.

It was inexpressibly weird and lonely to Paul, seemingly a silent river flowing on forever through silent shades.
He saw nothing on the stream, and his eyes came back to the thin, hatchet-faced chief, who stood upon the bank looking so intently.

Red Eagle had begun to interest him greatly.

He impressed Paul as being a thorough savage of savages, fairly breathing cruelty and cunning, and Paul saw now a note of expectation, of cruel expectation, in the fierce black eyes of the Shawnee.