The hunters were now ready to set out, for, in the meantime, the antelope and bears killed the afternoon before had been skinned and the meat hung up in the dry, cool air.
"Anybody in this outfit been wearing moccasins?" queried Corporal Hyman, strolling back into camp.
No one admitted it.
"Then we've been having visitors in the night," continued Hyman. "No less than four of them, either, for the prints are right under that tree over there, and they lead down to the trail."
"Moccasins? Indians, then?" thrilled Private William Green, who was one of the hunting party.
"Sorry to spoil your dream of glory in an Indian fight, Green," laughed the lieutenant, "but the last Indian in these parts died years ago."
"But what can the moccasins mean?" pondered Sergeant Hal aloud. "If there have been visitors about, and honest ones, they would naturally let themselves be announced. Dietz, you had the last trick of watch?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Did you see or hear any prowlers?"
"Nary one, Sergeant."