ly he left the hill and, face toward the south, began
to walk swiftly and silently down the rows of trees. There was but little
undergrowth, nothing to check his speed, and he strode on and on. After a
while he came to a brook running through low soft soil and then he did a
strange thing, the very act that a white man travelling through the
dangerous forest would have avoided. He planted one foot in the yielding
soil near the water's edge, and then stepping across, planted the other in
exactly the same way on the far side.

When another yard brought him to hard ground he stopped and looked back
with satisfaction. On either side of the brook remained the firm deep
impression of a human foot, of a white foot, the toes being turned
outward. No wilderness rover could mistake it, and yet it was hundreds of
miles to the nearest settlement of Shif'less Sol's kind.

He took another look at the footsteps, smiled again and resumed his
journey. The character of the country did not change. Still the low
rolling hills, still the splendid forests of oak and elm, beech, maple and
hickory, and of all their noble kin, still the little brooks of clear
water, still the deer and the buffalo, grazing in the glades, and taking
but little notice of the strange human figure as it passed. Presently, the
shiftless one stopped again and he did another thing, yet stranger than
the pressing-in of the foot-prints beside the little stream. He drew the
hatchet from his belt and cut a chip out of the bark of a hickory. A
hundred yards further on he did the same thing, and, at three hundred
yards or so, he cut the chip for the third time. He looked well at the
marks, saw that they were clear, distinct and unmistakable, and then the
peculiar little smile of satisfaction would pass again over his face.

But these stops were only momentary. Save for them he never ceased his
rapid course, and always it led straight toward the south. When the sun
was squarely overhead, pouring down a flood of golden beams, he paused in
the shade of a mighty oak, and took food from his belt. He might have
eaten there in silence and obscurity, but once more the shiftless one
showed a singular lack of caution and woodcraft. He drew together dry
sticks, ignited a fire with flint and steel, and cooked deer meat over it.
He let the fire burn high, and a thin column of dark smoke rose far up
into the blue. Any savage, roaming the wilderness, might see it, but the
shiftless one was