A song of triumph was singing in his veins.
They found the village at the edge of starvation despite the approach of
spring; two or three of the older people had died already of weakness,
and their supplies arrived just in time to relieve the crisis. There
were willing tongues to tell of his exploits, and Henry soon perceived
that he was a hero to them all and he enjoyed it, because it was natural
to him to be a leader, and he loved to breathe the air of approbation.
Yet as they valued him more they grew more jealous of him, and they
watched him incessantly, lest he should take it into his head to flee to
the people who were once his own. Henry saw the difficulty and again it
soothed his conscience by showing to him that he could not do what he
yet had a lingering feeling that he ought to do.
Good luck seemed to come in a shower to the village with the return of
the hunting party. Spring leaped suddenly into full bloom, and the woods
began to swarm with game. It was the most plentiful season that the
oldest man could recall, there was no hunter so lazy and so dull that he
could not find the buffalo and the deer.
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