It was now about three o'clock.
Boone, stepping delicately, examined the ashes, and then sat himself on the
ground and brooded.
When at last he lifted his eyes his face was perplexed.
"I can't make it out nohow. Jim and this Indian was good friends. They were
feelin' pretty safe, for they made a mighty careless fire and didn't stop
to tidy it up. But likewise they was restless, for they started out long
before morning. . . . I read it this way. Jim met a redskin that he knowed
before and thought he could trust anyhow, and he's gone off with him
seeking powder. It'd be like Jim to dash off alone and play his hand like
that. He figured he'd come back to us with what we needed and that we'd
have the sense to wait for him. I guess that's right. But I m uneasy about
the redskin. If he's from north of the river, there's a Mingo camp
somewhere about and they've gone there. . . . I never had much notion of
Seneca Indians, and I reckon Jim's took a big risk."
All evening he followed the trail, which crossed the low hills into the
corn-brakes and woodlands of a broader valley.
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