“What is it, Nat?” said my uncle sharply, and then as he caught sight of the marks too, he answered his own question aloud:
“Footprints—men’s—yes, more than one. Hah! Look-out, Nat; I can hear them coming back.”
Uncle Dick’s ears seemed to be sharper than mine, for though I listened intently and stood prepared to fire, some minutes elapsed before I heard a sound, and then it was not from up the stream, but from overhead—a sharp whistling cry—which was repeated again and again, and I caught the flash of wings as a large bird circled round, evidently attracted by the fire, which was kept blazing.
“Throw on some more, Nat,” said my uncle; “it will serve to keep them at a distance. Perhaps we’ve scared the savages off for good.”
“I hope so,” I said; “but we mustn’t go to sleep again.”
“You’re a queer chap, Nat, if you could go to sleep after this; I couldn’t.”
“But they may not be savages, uncle,” I said.
“Perhaps not, but the place seemed so wild that I don’t think they could be anything else. We must take turn and turn to watch till daylight. You go and lie down.”
“No, uncle,” I said; “I’d rather stay and watch. What time is it?”
“About midnight, I should think,” he said, pulling out the big old silver hunting-watch that accompanied him on all his travels, and holding it down in the full light from the fire. “Humph!” he ejaculated. “What time do you say?”