ace among living things,
and that stitch in his side began to grow stronger. It did not come now
at intervals but stayed, and soon he must lie down and rest if he had
nothing more than the shelter of a tree's outspread boughs.

But he came to the hills and, after some hunting, found a rocky alcove,
which he half filled with the dead leaves of last year. There he lay
down and drew some of the leaves over him. It was wonderfully soothing
and peaceful, and the stitch in his side became much easier. As his
nerves resumed their normal state, he grew very hungry. But he would
have to endure it, and he tried to think of other things.

It was quite dark now, but he heard noises about him. He knew that it
was the night prowlers, and some of them came very near. It was true
that they knew him to be unarmed. In some mysterious way the word had
been passed among them that their greatest enemy, man, could do them no
harm, and Henry saw bright little eyes looking at him curiously through
the darkness.

The boy felt deeply his sense of helplessness. Small shadowy forms
hopped about through the thickets. He fancied that they were rabbits,
and they came very near in the most reckless and abandoned fashion. He
was overwhelmed with shame. That a little rabbit eight inches long and
weighing only two or three pounds should defy him who had slain bears
and buffaloes, and who had fought victoriously with the most powerful
and cunning of Indian warriors, was not to be endured. He raised himself
up a little and threw a stone at them. They disappeared with a faint
noise of light, leaping feet, but in a few moments they came back again.
If he frightened them it was only for an instant, and it took an effort
of his will to prevent an unreasoning anger toward the most timid and
innocent of forest creatures.

The night now was well advanced, but full of dusky beauty. The stars
were coming out, bright and confident, and their silvery twinkle lighted
up the heavens. Henry looked up at them. They would have been to most
people mere meaningless points in the vast, cold void, but they made him
neither lonely nor afraid. The feeling of weakness was what troubled
him. He knew that he ought to sleep, but his nerves were not yet in the
perfect accord that produces rest.

He resolutely shut his eyes and kept them shut for five minutes. Then he
opened them again because he felt a larger presence than that of the
rabbits. He saw another half circle of brig