It was a period of awful suspense, and the two palefaces held their breath for a moment as they watched the scout keenly.
What was it that had attracted the attention of the Algonquin?
He stooped down and picked up something that lay upon the ground. It was a broken scalping-knife that had evidently been dropped or lost in some scuffle long, long ago, for it was thick with rust. He gazed at it for some seconds, turning it round, then flung it away into the forest. The next instant he ascended the hillock and disappeared, entering the camp.
Fortune had once more favoured Jamie and his friend, for the discovery of the scalping-knife had both arrested and deflected the course of the scout, when he was only a few feet away from the fresh trail of the two palefaces. Had he continued on his original course, he could scarcely have failed to discover the prints of their moccasins, and a very awkward situation would have arisen. The alarm once given, fifty braves would have been upon them within a minute.
The sound of voices now reached them more frequently, and it was evident from the commotion that was going on that some movement was imminent. Once the piercing cry of the hawk was heard to come from over the hillock.
"They're moving the camp, and that's the signal for the scouts to draw in. They'll be gone in half-an-hour," whispered the hunter.
"Hadn't we better prepare to follow?" said Jamie.
"No. We shall gain nothing by being too eager. Besides, we have still got several incoming scouts in our rear. We must keep closely to cover till they have passed."
This precaution was a very necessary one, for within half-an-hour no less than three scouts passed within a hundred yards of them, each going in the direction of the camp.
Another hour passed away, and the sounds they had previously heard became fainter and then died away. At length the trapper rose from his crouching position in the brushwood and said--