“It looks so,” replied Henry reverently.  “The Indians with whom I once lived think that the Great Spirit often helps us when we need it most, and I suppose that their Great Spirit—­or Manitou, as they call Him—­is just the same as our God.”

Both boys were now silent for a while.  They had been reared by devout parents.  Life in the forest deepens religious belief, and it seemed to them that there had been a special interposition in their favor.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Paul at length.

“We can’t take up our journey again for a day or two,” replied Henry.  “We’ve got to get that powder to Marlowe some time or other.  Wareville sent us to do the job, and we’ll do it; but you are yet too weak, Paul, to start again.  You don’t know how really weak you are.  Just you get up and walk about a little.”

Paul rose and walked back and forth across the room, but in a few moments he became dizzy and had to sit down.  Then he uttered an impatient little cry.

“You’re right, Henry,” he said, “and I can’t help it.  Find the horses and take the powder to Marlowe by yourself.  I guess I can get back to Wareville, or come on later to Marlowe.”

Henry laughed.

“You know I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing, Paul,” he said.  “Besides, I don’t think they need to be in any hurry at Marlowe for that powder.  We’ll rest here two or three days, and then take a fresh start.”

Paul said no more.  It would have been a terrible blow to him to have no further share in the enterprise, but he had forced himself nevertheless to make the offer.  Now he leaned back luxuriously, and was content to wait.

“Of course,” said Henry judicially, “we run risks here.  You know that, Paul”

“Everybody who lives in Kentucky runs risks, and big ones,” said Paul.

“Then we’ll sit here for the present and watch the forest.  I don’t like to keep still, but it’s a fine country to look at, isn’t it, Paul?”

The love of the wilderness was upon Henry, and his eyes glowed as he looked at the vast surrounding forest, the circling wall of deep-toned, vivid colors.  For him, danger, if absent, did not exist, and there was inspiration in the crisp breeze that came over a thousand miles of untenanted woods.  He sat in the doorway, the door now open, and stretched his long legs luxuriously.  He was happy; while he might be anxious to go on with the powder, he pined for neither Wareville nor Marlowe for their own sakes.

Paul looked at his comrade with understanding and sympathy.  The forest made its appeal to him also, but in another way; and since Henry was content, he would be content, too.  Used as he was to hardships and narrow quarters, the little cabin would not be a bad place in which to pass two or three days.  He turned back to the fire and held out his hands before the mellow blaze.