An Indian hunter went into the forest in search of game.
The forest was so large that it would have taken three days to journey through it. All day he followed the track of the deer, but his arrows brought him no food.
At night, he came to a dark, swift-running stream. He was tired and hungry.
"Here," said he, "I will lie down and rest until sunrise."
He began to search for a bed of pine needles, for the Indian loves the pine tree. It is his friend by day and by night. By day it is his forest guide. At night it gives him a soft, sweet-smelling bed on which to sleep, and it shields him from the storm.
The hunter ran along the stream. It was very dark. He felt no soft pine needles under his moccasined feet, only the knotted roots of trees.
Suddenly the great roots of an oak tree reached out and caught him. He could not free his foot from the oak's grasp.
The sun rose and set. The great tree still held the hunter fast. He was weak from pain and hunger.
It was now two days since he had tasted food. Four notches had been cut in his stick, for the Indian measures time in this way. Each sunrise and sunset, when he is on the trail, is marked by a notch on a small stick which he carries.
Three times did the sun again rise and set, yet the tree did not let go its hold. There were now ten notches on the stick, and the hunter was so weak that he could scarcely cut the last one.