human
We are aiming for the south. Good. All the big branches of these hemlocks point that way--so yonder's my road. Queer, too, how mossy the tree trunks are on the north sides. I've heard that you could drop an Indian anywhere in any forest and he'd travel to either point of the compass he desired with nothing to guide him but his instinct. Wish I were an Indian! Wish, rather, I had my own compass and good outfit that went over in my canoe. Hurrah! There's a glimmer of water. That's the thoroughfare. Now a dash for it!