one by one, beyond
the branches of the trees, they had heard the even trickle of a tiny
spring nearby interrupted by faint, faint sounds, as little wild
creatures, bold in their obscurity, came there to drink.

As night darkened down, and the flame of the camp-fire grew more bright
and ruddy in consequence, the woods became more stealthily hushed. For
a moment, watching the gloom surrounding them--black, silent, yet
giving the listener an impression of teeming, hungry multitudes within
it--Dick's heart sank with a sense of isolation. On every side, for
leagues, these forests lay. He felt a benumbing realisation of his own
loneliness, and of the smallness of man's aims and hopes when
confronted with the impassive greatness of nature. What part had he in
this solemn wilderness, full of the things of the woods seeking their
meat from God?

A sound like a heavy, dragging footfall broke the silence, and shook
Dick's somewhat troubled nerves, so that he nearly jumped out of his
blanket, in sudden, unconcealed fright. "What was that?" he cried
involuntarily. And Peter responded with the nearest approach to a
scornful giggle of which his dignity was capable. For it was only a
porcupine taking a nocturnal walk, and not caring how much noise he
made, secure in his terrible quills. The thump--thump of his leisurely
progress died away, and then the quiet was disturbed only by the cries
of night-birds and those continuous, faint rustlings and murmurs which
seemed but a part of silence.

After dreamily listening and watching for a while longer, Dick dozed
off to sleep. But his slumbers were not as peaceful as usual, owing,
perhaps, to the slight pain in his ankle. And presently he was roused
again--roused, not by any noise, but by a sudden and complete cessation
of all the tiny sounds of the woods about them.

He had thought that the silence before had been deep; but now the
intense quiet oppressed him like some palpable weight. He glanced
drowsily at the fire, which was low, and then across it to Peter's
crouching figure, indistinct in the shadows. Some thought of rousing
the Indian was in his mind. "But no, I won't do that," he said to
himself. "I 've been laughed at quite enough for one night, and it's
only my fancy."

The hush was so great that he could hear the sound of the little breeze
among the leaves--so great that it seemed as if all life were held in
breathless suspension for a space--and it endured fo