rolling hills like the waves of the sea and in which everything
grew very beautiful. Henry had never seen such trees in the East. The
beech, the elm, the hickory and the maple reached gigantic proportions,
and wherever the shade was not too dense the grass rose heavy and rank.
Now and then they passed thickets of canebrake, and once, at the side of
a stream, they came to a salt "lick." It was here that a fountain
spouted from the base of a hill, and, running only a few feet, emptied
into a creek. But its waters were densely impregnated with salt, and all
around its banks the soft soil was trodden with hundreds of footsteps.

"The wild beasts made these," said the guide to Henry. "They come here
at night: elk, deer, buffalo, wolves, and all the others, big and
little, to get the salt. They drink the water and they lick up the salt
too from the ground."

A fierce desire laid hold of the boy at these words. He had a small
rifle of his own, which however he was not permitted to carry often. But
he wanted to take it and lie beside the pool at night when the game came
down to drink. The dark would have no terrors for him, nor would he need
companionship. He knew what to do, he could stay in the bush noiseless
and motionless for hours, and he would choose only the finest of the
deer and the bear. He could see himself drawing the bead, as a great
buck came down in the shadows to the fountain and he thrilled with
pleasure at the thought. Each new step into the wilderness seemed to
bring him nearer home.

Their stay beside the salt spring was short, but the next night they
built the fire higher than ever because just after dark they heard the
howling of wolves, and a strange, long scream, like the shriek of a
woman, which the men said was the cry of a panther. There was no danger,
but the cries sounded lonesome and terrifying, and it took a big fire to
bring back gayety.

Henry had not yet gone to bed, but was sitting in his favorite place
beside the guide, who was calmly smoking a pipe, and he felt the
immensity of the wilderness. He understood why the people in this
caravan clung so closely to each other. They were simply a big family,
far away from anybody else, and the woods, which curved around them for
so many hundreds of miles, held them together.

The men talked more than usual that night, but they did not tell
stories; instead they asked many questions of the guide about the
country two days' journey farther on, wh