Probably that article had Jack's description in it.
He no longer felt that he had lost himself; instead, he felt trapped by the very mountains that five minutes ago had seemed so like a sheltering wall between him and his world.

He wanted to get into the deepest forest that clothed their sides; he wanted to hide in some remote canyon.
He turned his head again and looked back.

A man was coming behind him down the pathway which served as a pavement.

He thought it was the tall man who had been reading about him in the paper, and again panic seized him--only now he had but his two feet to carry him away into safety, instead of his mother's big new car.

He glanced at the houses like a harried animal seeking desperately for some hole to crawl into, and he saw that the little, square cottage that he had judged to be a dwelling, was in reality a United States Forest Service headquarters.
He had only the haziest idea of what that meant, but at least it was a public office, and it had a door which he could close between himself and the man that followed.
He hurried up the walk laid across the neat little grass plot, sent a humbly grateful glance up to the stars-and-stripes that fluttered lazily from the short flagstaff, and went in as though he had business there, and as though that business was urgent.
A couple of young fellows at wide, document-littered desks looked up at him with a mild curiosity, said good morning and waited with an air of expectancy for him to state his errand.