Frank was much gratified.
“Good for you, old chap,” said he, slapping the Cherokee upon the shoulder. To Jack he said: “As we are without instruments, we couldn’t locate the tract without these landmarks, and it’s a great comfort to have some one along who knows where the landmarks are.” Again his fingers went from point to point upon the chart. “Here, to the north, is a hill; and around to the west is a pine forest; I think we ought, by the help of these, to prove if the three oaks you have in mind are the ones in the chart, or no.”
When the horses had finished grazing, they were saddled, and the lads sprang upon their backs with keen excitement. That Running Elk was a most excellent judge of distance as well as topography was soon made manifest. For just about high noon, when the sun was staring like a huge fiery ball from directly overhead, Frank uttered a cry.
“What is it?” demanded Jack, his hand going in the quick, instinctive movement of the frontiersman for his weapon.
“The triple oaks,” was the reply, and Frank pointed over the tree tops.
Sure enough, as they broke through some underbrush upon the river bank, they sighted three massive oaks, growing close together and towering above their neighbors like giants above pigmies. To the left of them flowed a slow shallow stream of yellowish water which entered and discolored the river for some distance below.
“Well, there they are,” said Jack, “just as I saw them last, and as they have been standing for at least a hundred years.”
They all dismounted, and their bridles were thrown across some low limbs close to the water’s edge. Frank got the chart from his saddle-bags, and began unrolling it.
“With any sort of good luck,” said he, “we’ll have this job over sooner than we expected.”
As he spoke he felt a hand upon his shoulder, pressing downward.