For hours he trod steadily through the sand. The sun rose above him, hot and blistering, and the dunes still stretched out ahead of him, like winnows and hills and mountains of glittering glass. Gradually the desert became narrower. Far ahead he could see where the forest came down to the shore and his heart grew lighter. Half an hour later he entered the margin of trees. Almost immediately he found signs of life. A tree had been felled and cut into wood. A short distance beyond he came suddenly upon a narrow path, beaten hard by the passing of feet, and leading toward the lake. He had meant to rest under the shade of these trees but now he forgot his fatigue. For a moment he hesitated. Far back in the forest he heard the barking of a dog--but he turned in the opposite direction. If there was a boat the path would take him to it. Through a break in the trees he caught the green sweep of marsh rice and his heart beat excitedly with hope. Where there was rice there were wild-fowl, and surely where there were wild-fowl, there would be a punt or a canoe! In his eagerness he ran, and where the path ended, the flags and rice beaten into the mud and water, he stopped with an exultant cry. At his feet was a canoe. It was wet, as though just drawn out of the water, and a freshly used paddle was lying across the bow. Pausing but to take a quick and cautious glance about him he shoved the frail craft into the lake and with a few quiet strokes buried himself in the rice grass. When he emerged from it he was half a mile from the shore.