His sole
thought was to find his comrade. All the old days of boyish
companionship rushed upon him, with their memories. The tenderness in
his nature was the stronger, because of its long repression. He would
find him and if he were alive, he would save him; moreover he had what
he thought was a clew. He had remembered seeing Paul crouched behind a
log, firing at the enemy, and no one had seen him afterwards. He
believed that the boy was lying there yet, slain, or, if fate were
kinder, too badly wounded to move. The line of retreat had slanted
somewhat from the spot, and the savages might well have passed, in the
dark, without noticing the boy's fallen body.
His own sense of direction was perfect, and he edged swiftly away toward
the fallen log, behind which Paul had lain. Many dark forms passed him,
but none sought to stop him; the counterfeit was too good; all thought
him one of themselves.
Presently Henry passed no more of the flitting warriors. The battle was
moving on toward the south and was now behind him. He looked back and
saw the flashes growing fainter and heard the scattering rifle shots,
deadened somewhat by the distance.
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