Whoever he was, Eben was certain he was not far in advance, for just now he had heard him step on the decayed log. He pushed on, determined, as it lay in his way, to ferret out this rapid tracker, and perhaps by doing so he would rid Walter of an enemy.
He had been looking down at the trail. He now raised his head and looked around, to prevent being surprised by his fore-runner. Had he looked up a second quicker, he would have seen a form dart behind a huge tree, fifty yards or more in advance, with a smile on his face. But he did not see it, and went on, rapidly.
He approached the tree, keeping his eye bent on the trail; he drew nearer, and the man behind the tree smiled again. He came directly opposite the tree, and the man slipped around to the other side.
Eben passed the tree, then stopped short.
“Hullo! where’s the moccasin trail? I’ve left it, or it’s left me—one or t’other.”
He went back a step or two and discovered it again.
“Hullo! here it goes, branching off by this big sycamore. Shall I follow it?”
He hesitated a moment, then resolving to pursue it a little distance, went off, following it.
Went off? not far. Before he had taken two steps the man behind the tree came up behind him and gently touched him on the shoulder.
“How goes the day, young man?” he said.