He relied upon this fact more than upon any other.
The belt of forest into which he had ridden, ran along the crest of a hill, where the soil evidently had been considered too thin for profitable cultivation.

Yet the growth of trees and bushes was heavy, and Harry decided to keep in the middle of it, as long as it continued northward in the direction in which he was going.

He found a narrow path among the trees, and with his hand on a pistol butt he rode along it.
He expected to meet some one, but evidently the war had driven away all who used the path, and he continued in a welcome silence and desolation.
Coming from an army where he always heard many sounds, this silence impressed him at last.

Here in the woods there was a singular peace.
The June sun had been hot that year in Virginia, but in the sheltered places the leaves were not burned.

A moist, fresh greenness enclosed him and presently he heard the trickle of running water.
He came to a little brook, not more than a foot wide and only two or three inches deep, but running joyfully over its pebbly bottom.