“Listen!” was the answer. Through the stillness of the night came to their ears the sound of footsteps.
“I have it,” the young scout whispered to Master Preston. “We’ll take to the stream here, and keep it down a few rods to where another brook joins it, which last we’ll follow. It will enable us to work toward the old trail, and at the same time throw our pursuers off the track.”
Stepping into the water a moment later, they waded slowly and cautiously along to the tributary of which Ira had spoken. Entering this they began its ascent. During a half hour they kept on, pausing occasionally to learn if they were still followed, but no sound broke the stillness of the forest.
“Those fellows have lost our trail; can’t we leave the brook now?” the courier at length asked, becoming tired of his slippery and uncertain footing.
His companion’s answer was also a question:
“What’s that ahead of us?”
Master Preston stepped beside his guide, and then replied:
“It is a fire of some kind!”
“A camp-fire,” was the rejoinder. “I can now see a tent beyond.”
“What shall we do?”