Fully impressed with the serious responsibility that he had incurred, the youth set forth upon the trail with a gravity of demeanour which contrasted strongly with his almost boyish years. Yet while his keen eye darted from point to point, suffering not a blade of grass to escape its scrutiny, his countenance wore a beaming look of confidence, that imparted its cheering influence to the whole party.
For some hours he marched rapidly forward, with the assured step of a man who was treading a familiar path. Attō followed at no great distance, next to whom, on the trail, came Reginald, with Ethelston, Baptiste, and the other Whites, the line being closed by the Delawares, who brought up the rear. It may easily be imagined that Reginald bent his eyes anxiously on the path; but although frequent traces were discernible of the passage of men, as well as of various animals, he could not discover the slightest indication of the marks for which he looked; neither did the observation of the more experienced Baptiste meet with any better success.
When Wingenund reached the streamlet, on the sandy edge of which he had before noticed the light tread of a foot, which in spite of its dimension, he believed to be that of Prairie–bird or her attendant, he halted the party, and summoned Attō to a close examination of the trail. Stooping over it, the Indian looked long and earnestly, after which he shook his head, as if dissatisfied, and muttered a few words, the meaning of which Baptiste was not near enough to catch. Wingenund made no reply, and crossing the brook resumed the trail on its opposite bank.
“Does Attō find the mark of women’s feet on the sand?” inquired Baptiste.
“He is not sure; bison have passed over the marks, and trodden them,” was the evasive reply, and the party proceeded on the track.
Nothing of any importance occurred for some time to enliven the tedium of the march. The sanguine hopes of Reginald had been checked by what had fallen from Attō, of whose acuteness he justly entertained a high opinion. Ethelston seemed buried in deep reflection; and even the comic sallies of Monsieur Perrot failed to excite any mirth in those to whom they were addressed.
“Ethelston, I fear that I acted imprudently,” said his friend in a low voice “when I preferred the counsel of this youth to the more experienced opinion of War–Eagle; yet there was something in his manner that I could not resist.”
“Doubtless,” replied Ethelston, “the counsel of the elder warrior was entitled to the greater weight; and yet I do not think that he would himself have placed this detachment under the guidance of Wingenund, unless he felt sure that the latter had strong grounds for the tenacity with which he clung to his opinion.”
“I would willingly peril my life on his truth and fidelity,” said Reginald. “The question is, whether on this occasion he may not have been led into some error by the very eagerness of his wishes, and the ardour of his temperament.”
Scarcely had he uttered these words, when Wingenund stooped to pick up a small object which his quick eye had caught beside the trail; in another minute he placed it in the hand of Reginald, while a triumphant smile lit up his animated features. The object referred to was a slip of folded paper, damp with the dew which had fallen upon it. Reginald opened its folds, then gazed upon it in silence, with a fixed look, like one in a trance, while his powerful frame trembled from head to foot. The paroxysm of excitement lasted but for a moment, then putting the slip of paper into the hand of Ethelston, he threw himself into the arms of Wingenund; and if a tear escaped him, it fell unseen upon the bosom which he pressed with grateful affection to his heart.