"The sun rose red this morning, you may have noticed?" replied Bob.
"Yes, that is true, for I saw it myself," Sandy went on.
"And that stands for rain, all woodsmen believe."
Every rover of the big timber in those days put the utmost faith in such signs. If they saw the sun set in a sea of angry gold they would make ready for bad weather, just as surely as they believed the north lay close to the direction where the moss grew heaviest on those forest trees.
"But we have no fear of the rain," declared Sandy, impatiently; "let it come, for a wetting can't stop us from following Black Beaver day in and day out till we overtake him."
"Still, if the trail is washed out, how then are we to follow?" asked Bob, with a frown on his face.
"Oh! what a fool I was not to understand what you meant," said the younger boy, now looking up toward the heavens quite as anxiously as their dusky guide had done.
"We can only hope that it will keep off long enough to let us come up with the redskins," said Bob, thinking to buoy up his brother's sinking spirits.
"Or that Pat O'Mara may be able to overtake the thieves, and rescue our sister," Sandy observed.
Then they fell into silence again, each busy with his own painful thoughts. All the time Blue Jacket was leading them on at a sort of dog-trot. His eyes followed the trail in a manner simply marvellous; and Bob again and again felt a sense of delight because good fortune had sent this red friend across their path just when they needed assistance most.