Presently he saw that he had
been right, and that Lovelle and the Indian had begun their journey in the
night, for the prints showed like those of travellers in darkness. Before
sunset Boone grew very anxious. He found traces converging, till a clear
path was worn in the grass like a regulation war trail. It was not one of
the known trails, so it had been made for a purpose; he found on tree
trunks the tiny blazons of the scouts who had been sent ahead to survey it.
It was a war party of Mingos, or whoever they might be, and he did not like
it. He was puzzled to know what purchase Jim could have with those outland
folk. . . . And yet he had been on friendly terms with the scout he had
picked up. . . . Another fact disturbed him. Lovelle's print had been
clear enough till the other Indians joined him. The light was bad, but now
that print seemed to have disappeared. It might be due to the general
thronging of marks in the trail, but it might be that Jim was a prisoner,
trussed and helpless.
He supped off cold jerked bear's meat and slept two hours in the canes,
waiting on the moonrise.
Pages:
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374