Struggling with the storm and darkness, but always with the happy
consciousness of drawing nearer to her in that struggle, he labored on,
finding his perilous way over the indistinguishable trail by certain
landmarks in the distance, visible only to his pioneer eye. That heavier
shadow to the right was not the hillside, but the SLOPE to the distant
hill; that low, regular line immediately before him was not a fence or
wall, but the line of distant gigantic woods, a mile from his home. Yet
as he began to descend the slope towards the wood, he stopped and rubbed
his eyes. There was distinctly a light in it. His first idea was that he
had lost the trail and was nearing the woodman Mackinnon's cabin. But a
more careful scrutiny revealed to him that it was really the wood, and
the light was a camp-fire. It was a rough night for camping out, but
they were probably some belated prospectors.
When he had reached the fringe of woodland, he could see quite plainly
that the fire was built beside one of the large pines, and that the
little encampment, which looked quite comfortable and secluded from the
storm-beaten trail, was occupied apparently by a single figure.
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