He made no noise as he passed, stepping lightly,
but with sure foot like one with both genius and training for the
wilderness. He knelt at a little brook to slake his thirst, but did not
stop long there. His happiness decreased in nowise. The familiar voices
of the night were speaking to him. He heard the distant hoot of an owl,
a deer rustled in the bush, a lizard scuttled over the leaves, and he
rejoiced at the sounds. He did not think of hunger but toward midnight
he raked some of last year's fallen leaves close to the trunk of a big
tree, lay down upon them, and fell in a few moments into happy and
dreamless sleep.
He awoke with the first rays of the dawn, shot a deer after an hour's
search, and then cooked his breakfast by the side of one of the little
brooks. It was the first food that had tasted just right to him in many
weeks, and afterwards he lay by the camp fire awhile, and luxuriated. He
had the most wonderful feeling of peace and ease; all the world was his
to go where he chose and to do what he chose, and he began to think of
an autumn camp, a tiny lodge in the deepest recess of the wilderness,
where he could store spare ammunition, furs and skins and find a
frequent refuge, when the time for storms and cold came.
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