The forest watched over its own not only through the night but after the sun rose. Braxton Wyatt and his warriors, consumed with rage, could find no sign of a trail. They had entered the cavern and seized upon the portions of venison left there, although the rifle escaped their notice, and then they had begun the vain pursuit. Long before day they gave it up, and started after the main army. It had been Henry's intention to sleep only the two hours until dawn, but the relaxation, coming after immense exertions and anxieties, kept him and all the others sound asleep long after the dripping forest was bathed in sunlight. It was a bright ray of the same sunlight entering through a crevice and striking him in the eye that awakened him. He looked at his comrades. They were so deep in slumber that not one of them stirred. He heard a light swift sound overhead and saw that it was a gray squirrel running along their roof. Then came a song, pure and sweet, that thrilled through the forest. It was sung by a small gray bird perched on a vine almost directly over Henry's head, and he wondered that such a volume of music could come from such a tiny body. The squirrel and the bird together told him that nothing unusual was stirring in the forest. If warriors were near that morning song would not be poured forth in such a clear and untroubled stream. The bird was their warder, their watchman, and he told them that it was sunrise and all was well. Feeling the utmost confidence in the small sentinel, and knowing that they needed more strength for the pursuit, Henry closed his eyes and went to sleep again. The little gray bird was the most redoubtable of sentinels. Either the figures below were hidden from him or instinct warned him that they were friends. He hopped from bough to bough of the great windrow, and nearly always he sang. Now his song was clear and happy, saying that no enemy came in the forest. He sang from sheer delight, from the glory of the sunshine, and the splendor of the great green forest, drying in the golden glow. Now and then the gray squirrel came down from a tree and ran over the windrow. There was no method in his excursions. It was just pure happiness, the physical expression of high spirits. The shiftless one was the next to awake, and he too looked at his sleeping comrades. His task had been the hardest of them all. Although his body had acquired the quality of steel wire, it had yielded nevertheless under the strain of so many pursuits and flights. Now he heard that bird singing above him and as it told him, too, that no danger was near, he shifted himself a little to ease his muscles and went to sleep again.