The giant sprung toward him and found him holding the torch over a dark spot on the gray stone over which they had trod immediately after emerging from the water.
It was blood—blood freshly spilled.
“On the right trail at last,” cried Bell, in a hoarse whisper. “We can track the she devil by her gore now.”
A step further on revealed a second drop of blood, and presently they trailed the wounded person into an obscure corridor, which had hitherto escaped their eyes.
Doc Bell almost uttered a shout of triumph, as he sprung into the dark passage, for he would soon come up with the Snake Queen, and rescue Kate Blount from her vengeance.
The passage proved a tortuous one, but no corridors led from it, and at length the hunter felt a breath of air fan his cheeks. He paused and griped the Peoria’s naked arm.
They listened, and heard the low sound of rushing water.
“Go on, hunter,” said the red-skin. “We will trail the mad queen to the wood.”
They proceeded again, and at length, emerging from the corridor, found themselves standing up to their knees in a narrow stream that boasted of perpendicular banks.
“Baffled!” said the Indian-hunter, biting his lips with chagrin. “I’ve trailed many a red-skin before, but I confess that I’m crawling out o’ the little end ov the horn now. Back, Swamp Oak, back to our people in the cave.”