At last, about noon that day, their leader came to a sudden halt, and pointed to something on the ground before him.
“What does he see?” asked Paul, in a low voice.
“Footprints,” said Hendrick.
“What of—deer?” asked the captain, in a hoarse whisper.
“No—natives. Perhaps his friends.”
While they were whispering, the Indian was on his knees examining the footprints in question. Rising after a few minutes’ survey, with a grave look he said—
“Strongbow is not sure. The prints look like those of his tribe, but—he is not sure!”
“At all events we can follow them,” said Hendrick. “The land is open; we cannot easily be surprised, and we have our weapons handy.”
As he spoke he drew an arrow from his quiver, and, affixing the notch to the bow-string, carried the weapon in his left hand. The others followed his example. Oliver felt his belt behind, to make sure that the axe was there, and glanced at the mighty club that hung from his shoulder.
Oscar, regarding with a slight degree of wonder the warlike arrangements of his friend, also fitted an arrow to his little bow, and then, with cautious steps and inquiring glances, the party continued to advance.