t--or Manitou, as they call Him--is just
the same as our God."

Both boys were now silent for a while. They had been reared by devout
parents. Life in the forest deepens religious belief, and it seemed to
them that there had been a special interposition in their favor.

"What are we going to do now?" asked Paul at length.

"We can't take up our journey again for a day or two," replied Henry.
"We've got to get that powder to Marlowe some time or other. Wareville
sent us to do the job, and we'll do it; but you are yet too weak, Paul, to
start again. You don't know how really weak you are. Just you get up and
walk about a little."

Paul rose and walked back and forth across the room, but in a few moments
he became dizzy and had to sit down. Then he uttered an impatient little
cry.

"You're right, Henry," he said, "and I can't help it. Find the horses and
take the powder to Marlowe by yourself. I guess I can get back to
Wareville, or come on later to Marlowe."

Henry laughed.

"You know I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, Paul," he said.
"Besides, I don't think they need to be in any hurry at Marlowe for that
powder. We'll rest here two or three days, and then take a fresh start."

Paul said no more. It would have been a terrible blow to him to have no
further share in the enterprise, but he had forced himself nevertheless to
make the offer. Now he leaned back luxuriously, and was content to wait.

"Of course," said Henry judicially, "we run risks here. You know that,
Paul"

"Everybody who lives in Kentucky runs risks, and big ones," said Paul.

"Then we'll sit here for the present and watch the forest. I don't like to
keep still, but it's a fine country to look at, isn't it, Paul?"

The love of the wilderness was upon Henry, and his eyes glowed as he
looked at the vast surrounding forest, the circling wall of deep-toned,
vivid colors. For him, danger, if absent, did not exist, and there was
inspiration in the crisp breeze that came over a thousand miles of
untenanted woods. He sat in the doorway, the door now open, and stretched
his long legs luxuriously. He was happy; while he might be anxious to go
on with the powder, he pined for neither Wareville nor Marlowe for their
own sakes.

Paul looked at his comrade with understanding and sympathy. The forest
made its appeal to him also, but in another way; and since Henry was
content, he would be content, too. Used as he was to hardships and narrow
quarters,