Taking his rifle in his hand, he bade the group that had gathered around him a hearty good-bye, and started on his way.
The afternoon was not a pleasant one.

The air was raw, and, as the sun went toward its setting, the wind came on to blow from the north-west.
This was just as he would have it.

It gave him breath, and stimulated the vitality that was necessary to him in the performance of his long task.

A tramp of forty miles was not play, even to him, and this long distance was to be accomplished before he could reach the boat that would bear him and his burden into the woods.
He crossed the Branch at its principal bridge, and took the same path up the hill that Robert Belcher had traveled in the morning.

About half-way up the hill, as he was going on with the stride of a giant, he saw a little boy at the side of the road, who had evidently been weeping.