"Good-by, Lea."
In the woods, Lentz and Alan crept through the underbrush.
"You lead," Alan whispered. He felt safer with Lentz in front of him. But he told himself that was foolish; Lentz seemed perfectly friendly.
"Quiet, we make no noise. In these woods, it seems, savages are everywhere."
It was rough, heavy traveling. The underbrush was thick; there were fallen trees, tiny streams occasionally; deep, solemn glens, thick with leafy mold and huge ferns. And the solid wall of trees. Wild brier, dogwood, sumach, and white birch occasionally, gleaming, ghostlike, in the gloom.
Silent, sinister recesses. At every crackling twig beneath their tread, Alan's heart leaped. The Indians of this forest could glide through it soundlessly. Alan felt a dozen times that he and Lentz were being stalked.
"Where are we, Lentz? Wait a minute."
They crossed perilously on the top of a fallen tree, which spanned a deep ravine. Lentz waited at its end for Alan to come. Lentz whispered: "Let me help you."
There was an instant when it flashed to Alan that Lentz might push him off. Alan drew back.
"Move on—I'll get down."