"Yes. Rather a strange thing to carry in the forest, but--but--he used it to sharpen his knife, and such things," said Jamie, reddening a little as he remembered the history of that little file in the old country. It was the one which had secured their escape from the lock-up two years ago, and Jack had kept it as a memento, saying--
"It has brought us luck once; it may do so again. At any rate, it is sure to be useful, and I will keep it."
The hunter carefully examined the file, and then passed it over to his friend. He, too, remembered to have seen a file exactly like that once--long ago--in a little land across the sea, but all the secrets and memories that it recalled were painful ones.
"Well, here's the trail, let us follow it," exclaimed Jamie. "It's as good as following a paper-chase through the woods at Burnside, I do declare."
"Where did you say?"
"Burnside! In the old country."
The old man looked long and keenly at the youth, whose features were now so brown and tanned that he was more like a redskin than a paleface. Then he was about to speak further, but he checked himself, for at that instant, when they had only followed the newly-discovered trail for a hundred yards or so--
"Whisht!" went an arrow so close to them that it pierced Jamie's beaver hat and pinned it to the bark of a tree.
In a second they had gained the shelter of a friendly elm, whose huge trunk offered cover for them both. Scarcely had they done so when--
"Whisht!" went a second arrow, and a third, both perilously near.