full well
that it was the most perilous enterprise that he had ever attempted.
Yet scouts and hunters had done such things and had escaped with their
lives. He must not shrink from the path that others had trodden.

He made up his mind firmly, and partly thought out his plan of
operations. Then he rested, and so sanguine was his temperament that he
began to regard the deed itself as almost achieved. Decision is always
soothing after doubt, and he fell into a pleasant dreamy state. A gentle
wind was blowing, the forest was dry and the leaves rustled with the low
note that is like the softest chord of a violin. It became penetrating,
thrillingly sweet, and hark! it spoke to him in a voice that he knew.
It was the same voice that he had heard on the Ohio, mystic, but telling
him to be of heart and courage. He would triumph over hardships and
dangers, and he would see his friends again.

Henry started up from his vision. The song was gone, and he heard only
the wind softly moving the leaves. It had been vague and shadowy as
gossamer, light as the substance of a dream, but it was real to him,
nevertheless, and the deep glow of certain triumph permeated his being,
body and mind. It was not strange that he had in his nature something
of the Indian mysticism that personified the winds and the trees
and everything about him. The Manitou of the red man and the ancient
Aieroski of the Iroquois were the same as his own God. He could not
doubt that he had a message. Down on the Ohio he had had the same
message more than once, and it had always come true.

He heard a slight rustling among the bushes, and, sitting perfectly
still, he saw a black bear emerge into the open. It had gained the islet
in some manner, probably floundering through the black mire, and the
thought occurred to him that it was the mate of the one he had slain,
drawn perhaps by instinct on the trail of a lost comrade. He could
have shot the bear as he sat-and he would need fresh supplies of food
soon-but he did not have the heart to do it.

The bear sniffed a little at the wind, which was blowing the human odor
away from him, and sat back on his haunches. Henry did not believe that
the animal had seen him or was yet aware of his presence, although he
might suspect. There was something humorous and also pathetic in the
visitor, who cocked his head on one side and looked about him. He made
a distinct appeal to Henry, who sat absolutely still, so still that
the