lay and unusually dry,
sometimes baked so hard that it left no imprint of a track. Where a
growth of cottonwood had held back the encroachment of the willows there
usually was thick grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slender
poles with stems so close together that they almost touched, and with
the leafy foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this brake
Duane had penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle
of the day the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered the
foliage, then slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the green
mantle and danced like gold on the ground.

Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and
likewise he had felt a protecting, harboring something which always
seemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any
unwounded creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided
under the low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hard
to conceal tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men could
hunt each other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other and
never know it. The problem of sustaining life was difficult; but, then,
hunted men and animals survived on very little.

Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keeping
in the brake, work his way upstream till he had reached country more
hospitable. Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river,
Duane had his doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to put
the river between him and his hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had to
be favored, as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the
willows, he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. There
were narrow aisles and washes and holes low down and paths brushed by
animals, all of which he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling,
stooping any way to get along. To keep in a straight line was not
easy--he did it by marking some bright sunlit stem or tree ahead, and
when he reached it looked straight on to mark another. His progress
necessarily grew slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder,
denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about his head. He kept on
without pause. Deepening shadows under the willows told him that the
afternoon was far advanced. He began to fear he had wandered in a wrong
direction. Finally a strip of light ahead relieved his anxiety, and
after a toilsome penetration of still