"I feel so good that I'm near bustin' into song." "Then bust," said Harry.
"Soft, o'er the fountain, lingering falls the southern moon, Far o'er the mountain breaks the day too soon.
In thy dark eyes' splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell, Weary looks yet tender, speak their fond farewell.
'Nita, Juanita! Ask thy soul if we should part, 'Nita, Juanita! Lean thou on my heart." The notes of the old melody swelled, and, as before, the deep channel of the river gave them back again in faint and dying echoes.

Time and place and the voice of Jarvis, with its haunting quality, threw a spell over Harry.

The present rolled away.

He was back in the romantic old past, of which he had read so much, with Boone and Kenton and Harrod and the other great forest rangers.
The darkness sank down, deeper and heavier.

The stars came out presently and twinkled in the blue.