But Mayhew was acquainted with all these methods of concealing a trail. He had spent much of his life in the wilderness, and knew Indian ways as well as any man Dick and Roger had ever met.
Gradually that long afternoon gave place to the coming of night. Shadows began to steal out from among the trees and stalk boldly. More and more difficult did it become for the trailer to see the faint tracks of those he was pursuing. Finally he came to a full stop.
“It is no use trying further, lads,” Mayhew told them, “for there would be constant danger of losing the trail entirely. Unless we choose to risk lighting torches, and keeping on, we must make camp here, cook something to eat, and then get what rest we may, looking to a new day and an early start.”
Although Roger hated to give up, he knew there was nothing else to be done.
CHAPTER VII
THE STRANGE AWAKENING
There was little that the two lads did not know about making a camp, for they had been accustomed to spending nights in the woods ever since they first learned to handle a gun, and bring down the game so necessary for daily food.
The spot chosen by their guide for passing the night was as suitable as could be found at that late hour. Around them lay the woods, the trees tall and not of any generous girth, for the slopes of the hills bordering the Yellowstone are covered with a growth of pine that is not noted for its size.
When Mayhew tossed his pack aside the boys followed suit. They had made a long day of it, and were tired, though ready enough to keep moving could it be to their advantage.