"Could I sleep?" he said. "Would a hungry wolf eat? Will water run down
hill? I don't think I could do anything else just now."

"Then try it," said Henry. "After a while I'll wake you up for your
watch, and take a turn at it myself."

Paul said not another word, but sank back on the grass and leaves, with
his feet to the great bed of coals. He saw their glow for a moment or two,
then his eyelids shut down, and he was wafted away on a magic carpet to a
dreamless region of happy peace. Henry's eyes, grown used to the dark,
looked at him for a moment or two, and then the larger boy smiled. Paul,
his faithful comrade, filled a great place in his heart--they liked each
other all the better because they were so unlike--and he was silently, but
none the less devoutly thankful that he had come.

Henry was warm and dry, and as he tested his muscles he found them supple
and strong. Now he took precautions, thinking he had let the fire burn as
long as was safe. He scattered the coals with a stick, and then softly
crushed out each under the stout heel of his moccasin. With the minute
patience that he had learned from his forest life, he persisted in his
task until not a single spark was left anywhere. Then he sat down in
Turkish fashion, with his rifle lying across his lap and the other rifles
near, listening, always listening, with the wonderful ear that noted every
sound of the forest, and piercing the thickets with eyes whose keenness
those of no savage could surpass. He knew that they were in the danger
zone, that the Shawnees were on a great man-hunt, and regarded the two
boys as stilt within their net, although they could not yet put their
hands upon them. That was why he listened and watched so closely, and that
was why he would break his word to Paul and not waken him, keeping the