“Maybe he went down stream,” Bob suggested as they stopped for a short rest.
“We go back, try um down brook?”
“Do whatever you think best.”
“We try um little more,” the Indian decided after a short pause.
It was fortunate that he did so for in less than five minutes the dog had regained the scent.
“Good dog,” Bob declared as the low growl announced his success.
Through the thick woods the dog led them, tugging at the leash as though fearful that his quarry would escape him. At times the way led through thickets where they had to literally force their way while, in other places it was more open and they were enabled to make good progress.
“Hope he gets there soon,” Jack panted.
“Same here,” Bob agreed. “My legs are beginning to get tired.”
It must have been nearly two hours from the time they started and Bob judged that they had covered fully five miles when they reached the end of the hunt. Sicum stopped in front of what looked like a huge rock but the light from the flash showed that it was a small hill. The dog was sniffing at an opening, in the side of the hill, which looked to be barely large enough for a man to crawl into.