"We can certainly continue the hunt with less chance of being observed," answered his uncle.
Henry was very impatient to overtake those who had Dave in charge, but the trail was an uncertain one, and once they made a false move which took them some miles out of their true course. This false turn made White Buffalo very angry, and he berated himself roundly for the mistake.
"White Buffalo is getting old," he declared. "He is like a squaw on the trail. He had better go and live with the old women of his tribe."
"Never mind, White Buffalo, we are all liable to make mistakes," said the trader kindly.
At last the Indian chief announced that they had reached fresh tracks, and that they were close to another village. Soon after that Barringford came in and announced that he had seen the trail of some white men, evidently hunters and trappers.
"We must be careful now," said the old frontiersman, "If we ain't, we may run into a reg'lar trap."
The party came to a halt, and soon after that it began to snow, and by the time it was dark the snow covered the ground to the depth of an inch and more.
"That ends trailing," said Barringford. "Hang the luck anyway!"
As the snow continued to come down, they made themselves comfortable under some immense spruce trees whose branches almost touched the ground. Here supper was had, and then Henry and Barringford, accompanied by White Buffalo; moved up to the top of a small hill which was close at hand, hoping to discover something from that point of vantage.
"I see a camp-fire!" cried Henry, who was the first to gain the high ground.