But Henry, for the present, would not think of such a disaster as failure; on the contrary he reckoned with nothing but success, and he felt a marvelous elation.
The decision once taken the rebound had come with great force, and he felt that he was now about to make atonement for his long neglect, and more than neglect.

Perhaps it had been ordained long ago that he should be there at the critical moment, see the danger and bring them the warning that would save.

There was consolation in the thought.
He increased his pace and sped southward in the easy trot that he had learned from his red friends, a gait that he could maintain indefinitely, and with which he could put ground behind him at a remarkable rate.

His rifle he carried at the trail, his head was bent slightly forward, and he listened intently to every sound of the forest as he passed; nothing escaped his ear, whether it was a raccoon stirring among the branches, a deer startled from its covert, or merely the wind rustling the leaves.

Instinct also told him that the forest was at peace.
To the ordinary man the night with its dusk, the wilderness with its ghostly tree trunks, and the silence would have been full of weirdness and awe, black with omens and presages.