laughed. He felt himself more than ever Paul's protector and
regarded all his weaknesses with kindly tolerance. There the two lay
awhile, stretched out on the soft, warm earth, watching the twilight
deepen into night. Henry was listening to the voice of the wilderness,
which spoke to him in such pleasant tones. He heard a faint sighing,
like some one lightly plucking the strings of a guitar, and he knew that
it was the wandering breeze among the burned boughs; he heard now and
then a distant thud, and he knew that it was the fall of a tree, into
whose trunk the flames had bit deeply; as he lay with his ear to the
earth he heard more than once a furtive footfall as light as air, and he
knew that some wild animal was passing. But he had no fear, the fire was
a ring of steel about them.

Paul heard few of these sounds, or if hearing them he paid no heed. The
wilderness was not talking to him. He was merely in the woods and he was
very glad indeed to have his strong and faithful comrade beside him.

The twilight slipped away and the night came, thick and dark. The red
blur lingered, but the faintest line of pink under the dark horizon, and
the scorched tree trunks that curved like columns in a circle around
them became misty and unreal. Despite himself Paul began to feel a
little fear. He was a brave boy, but this was the wilderness, the
wilderness in the dark, peopled by wild animals and perhaps by wilder
men, and they were lost in it. He moved a little closer to his comrade.
But Henry, into whose mind no such thoughts had come, rose presently,
and heaped more wood on the fire. He was merely taking an ordinary
precaution, and this little task finished, he spoke to Paul in a vein of
humor, purposely making his words sound very big.

"Mr. Cotter," he said, "it seems to me that two worthy gentlemen like
ourselves who have had a day of hard toil should retire for the night,
and seek the rest that we deserve."

"What you say is certainly true, Mr. Ware," responded Paul who had a
lively fancy, "and I am glad to see that we have happened upon an inn,
worthy of our great merits, and of our high position in life. This, you
see, Mr. Ware, is the Kaintuckee Inn, a most spacious place, noted for
its pure air, and the great abundance of it. In truth, Mr. Ware, I may
assert to you that the ventilation is perfect."

"So I see, Mr. Cotter," said Henry, pursuing the same humor. "It is
indeed a noble place. We are not troubled by any gu