"Tom Ross knows more about the woods and what is likely to happen in them than Mr.
Pennypacker could know in all his life, if he were to live a thousand years.

It's every man to his own trade, and it's Tom's trade that we need now." After hearing these sage words of youth Paul asked no more questions, but he and Henry kept side by side throughout the night, that is, when neither of them was riding, because Henry, like all the others, now took turns on horseback.

Twice they crossed small streams and once a larger one, where they exercised the utmost caution to keep their precious salt from getting wet.

Fortunately the great pack saddles were a protection, and they emerged on the other side with both salt and powder dry.
When the night was thickest, in the long, dark hour just before the dawn, Henry and Paul, who were again side by side, heard a faint, distant cry.

It was a low, wailing note that was not unpleasant, softened by the spaces over which it came.