Never had his nostrils tasted anything sweeter than the smell of warm river water on the chill air, nor his eyes beheld a friendlier sight than the cheery stars. The one who fares forth does not repine.
After all he had only known Nesis for two days; she was fine and plucky—but he could not love her, and that was all there was to it. He had matters nearer his heart than the sad fate of an Indian maiden.
Master of his actions once more it was time for him to consider what to do to get out of the coil he was in. Nesis passed into the back of his mind.
No desire for sleep hampered him. He had had enough of sleeping the past two weeks. His arms had ached for this exercise. There was a fair current, and the willows moved by at a respectable rate.
He estimated that he could put forty miles between him and the Kakisa village by morning. The pleasant taste of freedom was heightened by the spice of heading into the unknown, and by night.
Night returns a rare sympathy to those who cultivate her. Ambrose, so far as he knew, was the first white man ever to travel this way. This river had no voice. The night was so still one could almost fancy one heard the stars.
Sometimes the looming shapes of islands confused him as to his course, but if he held his paddle the canoe would of itself choose the main current.
He had no apprehension as to what each bend in the stream would reveal, for with the experienced riverman's intuition he looked for a change in the character of the shores to warn him of any interruption of the current's smooth flow.
"Like old times, old fel'!" he said to his dumb partner.
Job's tail thumped on the gunwale. Ambrose contended that at night Job purposely turned stern formost to the most convenient hard object that his signals might be audible.