Indian summer was at hand. All the woods were dyed in vivid colors, reds
and yellows and browns, and glowed with dazzling hues in the intense
sunlight. Often the haze of Indian summer hung afar and softened every
outline. Henry's feeling that he was one of the band grew stronger, and
they, too, began to regard him as their own. His freedom was extended
more and more and with astonishing quickness he soon picked up enough
words of their dialect to make himself intelligible. They took him with
them, when they turned aside for hunting expeditions, and he was
permitted now and then to use his own rifle. Only six men in the band
had guns, and two of these guns were rifles the other four being
muskets. Henry soon showed that he was the best marksman among them and
respect for him grew. The Indian whom he knocked down was slightly gored
by a stag when only Henry was near, but Henry slew the stag, bound up
the man's wound and stayed by him until the others came. The warrior,
Gray Fox, speedily became one of his best friends.
Henry's enjoyment became more intense; all the trammels of civilization
were now thrown aside, he never thought of the morrow because the day
with its interests was sufficient, and from his new friends he learned
fresh lore of the forest with marvelous rapidity; they taught him how to
trail, to take advantage of every shred of cover and to make signals by
imitating the cry of bird or beast.
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