splendid country, and to think what a great land it would surely be.

He walked steadily on for miles, but the region about him remained
unfamiliar. No smoke from the little camp-fire rose among the trees, and
no welcome sight of Henry or the horses came to his eyes. For all he knew,
he might be going farther from the camp at every step. Putting aside
caution, he made a trumpet of his two hands, and uttered the long,
quavering cry that serves as a signal in the forest. It came back in a
somber echo from the darkening wilderness, and Paul saw, with a little
shiver, that the sun was now going down behind the trees. The breeze rose,
and the leaves rustled together with a soft hiss, like a warning. Chill
came into the air. The sensitive mind of the boy, so much alive to
abstract impressions, felt the omens of coming danger, and he stopped
again, not knowing what to do. He called himself afraid, but he was not.
It was the greater tribute to his courage that he remained resolute where
another might well have been in despair.

The sun went down behind the black forest like a cannon shot into the sea,
and darkness swept over the wilderness. Paul uttered the long cry again
and again, but, as before, no answer came back; once he fired his rifle,
and the sharp note seemed to run for miles, but still no answer.

Then he decided to take counsel of prudence, and sleep where he was. If he
walked on, he might go farther and farther away from the camp, but if he
stopped now, while he might not find Henry, Henry would certainly find
him. Any wilderness trail was an open road to his comrade.

He hunted a soft place under one of the trees, and, despising the dew,
stretched himself between two giant roots, his rifle by his side. He was
tired and hungry, and he lay for a while staring at the blank