He had taken up half a dozen sticks when a sound not very far away caught his ears. He was on the alert instantly, thinking it might perhaps be some wild animal. A dozen paces away was his gun, and he dropped the firewood and caught up the weapon.
Hardly had he done so, when he saw the form of a burly French hunter stealing through the forest toward the spot where the attack had been made on the pack-train. Fortunately, the Frenchman did not look toward Dave, so he and his companions, and their steeds, were not discovered.
"That fellow is up to no good, that is certain," thought the youth, and lost no time in arousing his companions.
"A Frenchman, eh?" said Jadwin. "More'n likely one of the crowd come back to see if he can't take away what was left of the loot."
Making no noise, they followed the Frenchman, who was dressed in the conventional garb of the hunters of the Great Lakes. The newcomer moved forward swiftly, and they had all they could do to keep up with him.
The spot reached, the Frenchman gazed around with evident dismay. Probably he had expected to see what had been left of the pack-train still there.
"Gone!" he muttered, in his native tongue. "I have had my trip of thirty miles for nothing."
After a careful look around, he returned to the forest, and set off at a quick pace in the direction from whence he had come.
"Shall we leap upon him and make him a prisoner?" asked Dave, in a whisper.
"No," replied Jadwin shortly. "Keep quiet."