"Let us go!"
They now crept carefully through the long grass that partially clothed the hillock, until they could peer over the brow and obtain a view of the camp.
The place was deserted, for the Indians had gone and taken their prisoners with them. The fire was still burning, and several half-cooked pieces of venison and bear's flesh lay about, also several broken utensils and a pair of cast-off moccasins.
"Whither have they gone, think you?" asked Jamie.
"Back to the Canadas, and we must follow them."
"They cannot have killed their prisoners, then, or we should have heard them, and there would have been traces of blood."
"See. Here is the tree to which they were tied. The thongs have been so tight that they have cut into the bark."
"Yes. That means that they will have to travel slowly, unless they kill their prisoners, for they will scarcely be able to walk fast yet awhile."
The trapper looked anxiously up at the sun, which was now declining, and had reached the topmost branches of the trees on the western side of the forest; then he proceeded to examine the prints of the Algonquin moccasins, following them a little way into the forest for the purpose, while Jamie still examined the ground about the root of the giant elm-tree to see if he could find traces of blood.
There were several spots of blood about the tree and several splashes of it on the bark. There were also many deep cuts and gashes, and an arrow still remained fast in the wood about six feet from the ground, as though they had practised the same cruelties upon the lads that they had essayed upon the hunter.