"An' we better be gettin' out o' here, too," advised Ed. "If 'twere Injuns--an' I'm noways sure 'twere or 'tweren't--they seen th' fire, an' th' dirty devils'll be droppin' us off an' we stays here."
"Aye," agreed Dick, "we'll be movin' on. You an' Bill both seein' somethin', they must ha' been somethin' there, though I weren't seein' un."
Weary as they were, the three men hastily shouldered their light packs, and with rifles resting in the hollow of their arms, Ed in the lead, they stole noiselessly away into the forest.
Two hours of rapid travelling, in the light of the now rising moon, brought them to the end of the lake. Here they paused to fall upon their knees and make a critical examination of the shore.
"Here's fresh footin'," Ed finally announced. "A canoe were launched here since sundown. Th' gravel's wet where th' water splashed up. They's one track o' a Injun moccasin, an' from th' smallness of un 'twere a woman."
"'Twere sure a woman," both Bill and Dick agreed.
"An' there's th' same footin' goin' t'other way, but 'tis an older track," Ed continued. "'Twere th' Injun lass we sees to-night goin' back."
"Now I'm wonderin'," said Dick, as they arose, "what she's goin' back for? Maybe now, she's lookin' t' meet us t' help her?"
"Maybe," Ed suggested, laughing, "she's finding a hull passel o' Injuns more'n she wants t' tackle wi' just her bow an' arrer. I were thinkin', now, a bow an' arrer weren't much t' run up ag'in a band o' Injuns with, seein' they has guns."
"Whatever 'tis she's up to," suggested Bill, "'tisn't lookin' for us. She couldn't ha' missed seein' our fire back here on th' shore, an' she'd ha' known who 'twere an' come over if she's wantin' t' see us."