After that night’s vigil, Graham took his gun, and packing a blanket and a few camping utensils in his saddle-bag, mounted his horse and rode away toward a hunting-lodge some twenty miles distant, where he sometimes passed the night. His way led through the woods, where the bracing air, the light footsteps of the invisible animals, the fluttering of the birds in the trees, served to turn his mind from the painful thoughts of the past night. He had a part in this woodland life, and owned a kinship to the four-footed and feathered creatures who made the forest their home. His spirit was lifted to that close and intimate communion with Nature which is only possible to man when unfettered by human companionship. The cool, spicy air was sweeter than the kiss of maiden; the leafage of the restless trees more tender than that of the gold-bronze hair he had so often praised. It seemed to him that the only real thing in all the fair sunny earth was himself; that the people whom he had known were but pictures seen in a dream. He lived, and breathed the scent of the pine-trees; he lived, and heard the cry of the blue-jays in their branches; he lived, and his eyes were filled with the glorious beauty of his world,--all his, with nothing to come between him and the fragrant Mother Earth. All that day he rode and walked through the tangled paths and trackless thickets, holding communion with sky and earth, content to live without retrospection or anticipation. Just before sunset he shot a brace of quail for his supper; and when dark shadows had crept through the wooded places he built a fire on the hearth of the little cabin where he proposed spending the night. It was a rude lodge, a trifle less comfortable than French John’s house, with wooden bunks around the walls, and trunks of trees roughly fashioned into seats. Under a certain board in the floor, known to him, was a hiding-place wherein were stored half a dozen tallow candles, with a bottle to serve as candle-stick, a pack of cards, an iron pot and spoon, a rusty jack-knife with a corkscrew, and, last of all, a flask of brandy, which it was a matter of honor always to leave half full. The shed had been built by himself and Henry Deering, and was occasionally used by them and their friends when on hunting expeditions. As there were no means of securely fastening so slight a building, there was neither lock nor bar to door or window. Over the fireplace was tacked a notice written in Deering’s bold hand, which read as follows:-- "Gentlemen are requested to put out the fire and latch the door before leaving this shanty. Water to be found three rods beyond this spot to the north."