stream. Then the red changed to pink. The pink, in its turn,
faded, and the whole surface of the river was somber gray,
flowing between two lines of black forest.

The coming of the darkness did not stop the boy. He swung a
little farther out into the stream, where the bushes and hanging
boughs would not get in his way, and continued his course with
some increase of speed.

The great paddle swung swiftly through the water, and the length
of stroke was amazing, but the boy's breath did not come faster,
and the muscles on his arms and shoulders rippled as if it were
the play of a child. Henry was in waters unknown to him. He had
nothing more than hearsay upon which to rely, and he used all the
wilderness caution that he had acquired through nature and
training. He called into use every faculty of his perfect
physical being. His trained eyes continually pierced the
darkness. At times, he stopped and listened with ears that could
hear the footfall of the rabbit, but neither eye nor ear brought
report of anything unusual. The river flowed with a soft,
sighing sound. Now and then a wild creature stirred in the
forest, and once a deer came down to the margin to drink, but
this was the ordinary life of the woods, and he passed it by.

He went on, hour after hour. The river narrowed. The banks grew
higher and rockier, and the water, deep and silvery under the
moon, flowed in a somewhat swifter current. Henry gave a little
stronger sweep to the paddle, and the speed of the canoe was
maintained. He still kept within the shadow of the northern
bank.