"If we don't meet any Indians perhaps we can stop at Fort Pitt," said Dave.
The following day it stormed, and the rain came down so thickly they had to go into camp, under the shelter of some trees. It thundered and lightened, and they heard more than one big tree go down with a mighty crash. But none of the falls were near them, for which they were thankful.
For the past twenty-four hours they had been following a narrow trail which ran along through a beautiful valley. Flabig said he had been on that trail the year before, and pointed out several trees upon which he had cut his initials. But after the storm was over, and they had covered a few miles more, the hunter came to a sudden halt.
"Don't look like the same trail no more," he said, blankly. "We must have made a false turn."
There was nothing to do but to turn back, and this they did. They had hardly covered half a mile when Sam Barringford gave a shout of warning.
"Stop!"
"What's up, Sam?" asked Dave, quickly.
"Don't ye see the Injun tracks? They've been a follerin' us right along."
"Then they must have turned back, as we did."
"Right ye are, lad."