ey they had
been skirting. What obstacles might lie in that hollow the white men
were powerless to estimate. They were entirely in the hands of the
Indian, and were content that this was so.

None spoke, and the scout moved on with the swiftness of absolute
certainty. Shadowy bluffs loomed up, were skirted, were left behind.
Once or twice a grunted warning came from the leader as marshy ground
squelched under the soft moccasins. But that was all. Charley's whole
mind was set in deep concentration. Pitfalls, which might trap, were
of small enough importance. The trail was all-absorbing.

A shallow lapping stream crossed their path. The banks were low and
quaking. They plunged into the knee-deep water, and their feet sank
into the bed of soft, reed-grown mud. They crossed the deep nearly
waist high, and floundered out on to the far bank. Then came a further
groping progress through a thicket of saplings and lesser growth. This
passed, they emerged upon an upward slope and firm patchy grassland.
It was at the summit of this that the Indian paused.

He stood staring out in a southwesterly direction. For a while he
remained silent. Kars and Bill squeezed the water from their stout
moleskin trousers.

Suddenly Charley flung out an arm. He was pointing with a lean
forefinger.

"Neche lodge," he said. "Louis Creal him shack."

Kars and Bill were at either side of him searching the dark horizon. A
light was shining dimly in the distance. Nor did it need much
understanding to realize that it came from behind a primitive,
cotton-covered window.

"Good. How far?"

It was Kars who spoke.

"Piece down. Piece up. So. One mile. Bluff. Small piece. Bell
River neches--plenty teepee."

Charley spoke with his outstretched hand indicating a brief decline,
and the corresponding rise of ground beyond. Again it was the Indian
in him that would not be denied illustration by gesture.

Again they moved forward. Again was the scout's rightness and accuracy
proved. The ground fell away into a short dip. It rose again in the
far side of the moist bottom, and its summit confronted them with a
clean cut barrier of tall pine woods. It was the end of the toilsome
journey. The screening bluff to the northeast, without which no Indian
village, however primitive, is complete.

They were not to pass through it. The scout turned off sharply to the
left, and moved down its length with swift, untiring steps. Nor