It is evident that a single windstorm, in such aged forests as those which covered the country a century ago, could easily fill a narrow roadway with fallen branches, so that it would be as well-nigh impassable as the adjacent jungle itself. The bushes, jealous of even the slightest space reserved for man's use in the virgin forest, overhung on either side, and after a rain the traveler was frequently drenched to the skin by the water which the branches retained. The bruised or broken ends of the twigs of the bushes beside a trail were an invariable sign to the Indian's keen eye of the size and destination of any party that had passed.
But Indian trails were not always on high ground, at least not always on the summits of the hills. Their general courses were determined by the destinations to which they offered thoroughfare, and toward these there were, oftentimes, no hill-ranges which offered a direct and easy course. In such instances the trails were forced to seek the most practicable courses available. Thus many of them wound for miles through low grounds which were often
