"Good!" the chief said, putting his hand on Tom's shoulder. "Now let us ride." He leapt into his saddle, the others following his example, and they went on at the same pace as before.
"Well, chief," the miner said, "what does that hair tell you about it, for I can't make neither head nor tail of it?"
"The white men killed a deer on their way up here, and they cut up the hide and made shoes for horses, so that they should leave no tracks. One of the horses trod on a little rock and a hair came out of the hide."
"That may be it, chief," the miner said, after thinking the matter over, "though it ain't much of a thing to go by."
"Good enough," Leaping Horse said. "We know now the line they were taking. When we get to soft ground see trail plainer."
"What will the others do when they cannot find the trail anywhere along the bank?"
"Ride straight on," the chief said. "Search banks of next river, look at mouths of valleys to make sure white men have not gone up there, meet more of tribe, search everywhere closely, find trail at last."
"Well, that ought to give Harry a good start, anyhow."
"Not know how long gone on," the chief said gravely. "No rainfall. Six, eight—perhaps only two days' start."
"But if they always hide their trail as well as they did here I don't see how the Indians can find them at all—especially as they don't know where they are making for, as we do."