“White man’s tracks.”
“White men’s! How know you that?”
“See!” exclaimed the scout, as he directed the officer’s attention to several nearly erased marks, “Indian no wear boots—Indian wear moccasin.”
Sure enough, there, in the loose earth, were imprinted the faint outlines of boot-traces. Penetrating the trampled bushes on either side of the path, War-Cloud at length came upon the spot where the inanimate form of Imogene had been placed during the passage of the dragoons.
These signs not only satisfied the party that they had struck upon the right trail, but also gave convincing proof that the abductors were white men, not Indians, as at first supposed.
Without stopping to waste any more time in words, the dragoons started on the trail, with War-Cloud a short distance in advance. The traces of the fugitives were so broad and plain, and so little care had been taken to conceal them, that they could be followed with but little difficulty.
However, as the troopers entered deeper into the heart of the forest, their progress became slower and more difficult, and the trail less distinct.
At length, however, they reached the deserted house where the abducting party had stopped the previous evening. They surrounded the building, but this precaution was unnecessary, as a hasty examination showed that their intended victims had departed several hours before.
The old trail was again resumed, which led them to the dwelling in which we left Imogene and her abductors in the previous chapter.
It was now dark, and the obscurity and quietude in which the house was buried seemed to foreshadow another disappointment. The lieutenant knocked loudly at the door; no answer. He knocked again; still no answer. He was about to effect an entrance by force, when the shadow of a man was observed to flit across the lawn.