“Dead soldier—there!” Fall-leaf indicated that he meant further on.
“Come on, Ingen,” said Nettleton. He reached the summit of the hill which overlooked the valley below, and, led by Fall-leaf, began its descent. They soon reached the stream, and the Indian pointed to the dead body. Nettleton gazed upon it a moment, and then said:
“Darn me if it ain’t the very feller what run away last night. Walker has been here, sure!”
He commenced his search at once. He found footprints in the sand, and among them that of a lady, judging from its small size. The Indian had also been taking observations. Returning from a clump of bushes, he said to Nettleton:
“See—canoe—two—White Bird—so!”
Here Fall-leaf indicated by action, that two men had drawn a boat from concealment in the thicket, had entered it, as indicated by tracks in the sand, and had proceeded down-stream.
“Well, they’ve got rid of one scoundrel, any way. It will only be man to man, and I feel myself to be a match for any dozen such skunks as that Walker. They can’t have much the start!”
Both Fall-leaf and Nettleton walked rapidly forward along the bank of the stream. At length—and it was almost a simultaneous movement on the part of each—they stopped, and bending forward, held their ears close to the ground.
“By thunder!” cried Nettleton, “that’s her voice!”
“White Bird caged—she no sing!” replied Fall-leaf.