"But that is foolish," remarked one of the others. "All moccasins are pretty much alike; and they make tracks that are as much the same as peas in a pod."
"Is that so, Reuben?" asked Bob, appealing to the old and experienced woodsman, who knew Indians like a scholar would the pages of a printed book.
"It air not," came the positive reply. "In the fust place, every tribe has its own way o' makin' footwear; and I kin tell at a look jest which belongs ter a Shawanee, a Sac, a Pottawottomi, a Delaware or an Iroquois. Even among the Six Nations thar's much difference, a Seneca's being built different from the moccasin of a Mohawk or an Oneida."
"I thought so," said Bob, smiling as though pleased. "And, Reuben, tell us if even Shawanee moccasins may not be known apart by some peculiar mark?"
"A-plenty of times I've seen it. This one might have a patch at the toe; another show some mark whar the skin had been worn; or p'raps a crease straight acrost the foot," the old man replied, frankly.
"And did you notice any such mark about the track we have been following—anything you would know again, no matter where you saw it?" Bob went on; for his own eyes had told him something far back, that had to do with this very thing.
"Yes, thar war such a mark, Bob," returned the experienced woodsman. "Many times I saw it in the track. It looked like the Indian's moccasin kept comin' off, and he hed tied a piece of deerskin thong around his foot. Besides, it was bigger nor any footprint I've run acrost this many a day."
"Look down at the feet of Blue Jacket, Reuben; and here is one of the tracks we followed. Tell me, did the same foot make both prints?" and Bob, as he thus spoke, pointed at the ground where the young warrior stood.
The settler was already on his knees. He took a slender stick, and carefully measured the marked track of the moccasin. Then he applied the rule to the plainly seen imprint left by Blue Jacket as he voluntarily moved aside.