Shaddy shook his head as he peered about, stooping and examining the trampled-down growth.
“Wish I could track like an Indian does, Mr Rob, sir. He has been here sure enough, but I can’t make out which way he has gone. There’s our footmarks pressing down the twigs and moss and stuff; and there’s his, I fancy.”
“And Indians?”
“Can’t see none, sir; but that means nothing: they tread so softly with their bare feet that a dozen may have been here and gone, and we not know it.”
“Then you do think he has been attacked by Indians, Shaddy?” cried Rob reproachfully.
“Well, sir, I do, and I don’t. There’s no sign.”
“Then what could it have been,—a jaguar?”
“Maybe, Mr Rob.”
“Or a puma!”
“Maybe that, sir; or he may have come suddenly upon a deer as gave him a dig with its horns. Here, let’s get on back to camp as quickly as we can.”