Closely Boone studied the trail; some peculiarity of the moccasin imprints struck him.
“They are Shawnees,” said he; “and as far as I can make out, there must be a score of them.”
“That many, at least,” spoke Stuart, his eyes also examining the trail. “A hunting party pushing toward the river; maybe in search of fur.”
Boone nodded, but somewhat dubiously. The sudden appearance of a large band of savages at that precise time disquieted him; he felt in it the promise of future danger.
CLOSELY BOONE STUDIED THE TRAIL
“They’ve found meat scarce, I suppose,” suggested Stuart, as they went on through the forest, “and so they had to go farther away from home.”
“It would have pleased me just as well if they’d taken another direction, then,” said Boone. “We’re getting on too well with our work to be disturbed just now.”
Ahead was a dense clump of dark, gloomy pine woods, on the edge of which was a fringe of dwarf oaks. A heavy growth of bush and climbing thorns had sprung up among these last; and as the two whites came to this, their long rifles in the hollow of their arms, there came a sudden rush, a fierce yell of exultation, and they found themselves borne to the ground, disarmed and bound with leather thongs.
With their rifles, hatchets and hunting knives in the possession of their captors, and their hands firmly secured behind their backs, they were permitted to rise, and found themselves looking into a circle of grim, copper-colored faces, and being examined by narrow, threatening eyes.