His sinking of the canoe had been in reality a triumph, and so he remained at ease, watching the ford.
He was quite sure that when his trail was found the little man would be the one to find it, and sure enough at the end of a half-hour the weazened figure led down to the ford.

Dick might have shot one of them in the water, but he had no desire to take life.

It would serve no purpose, and, refreshed and strengthened, he set out through the forest toward Jackson.
He came to a brook soon, and, remembering the old device of Indian times, he waded in it at least a half-mile.

When he left it he passed through a stretch of wood, crossed an old cotton field and entered the woods again.

Then he sat down and ate from his store, feeling that he had shaken off his pursuers.