believe 'em. From what I heard Mr McLeod say at the Mountain Fort, I
think it not unlikely they are bound on an expedition against the
whites. The very fact of their wishin' to keep friends with us instead
of tryin' to lift our scalps and carry off our furs and horses, shows me
they've some more pressin' business on hand. Mr McLeod described to me
the appearance of one or two o' the Injuns that hates the fur-traders
most, so that I might be on my guard, an' I'm quite sure that some of
them are with that band. Now, what say ye? Shall I tell 'em we don't
want their acquaintance?"

"Tell 'em they're a set o' lyin' thieves," said Big Waller. "I guess
we'll have nothin' to say to 'em wotiver."

"Oui, et give to dem mine complements," added Gibault, "an' say we ver'
moch 'blige by dere goodness, mais dey vill all be shooted if dey not go
away queek."

Redhand did not give these polite messages to the Indian, but on
returning to him he presented him with a piece of tobacco, and advised
him to continue his journey without loss of time, as the buffaloes were
travelling south and might be out of the way when they reached the
prairie.

Whether the Indians felt angry or not it is impossible to say. They
seemed indifferent to their cool reception by the trappers, and soon
after rode off at full speed, in a direction that led _away_ from the
Mountain Fort, a circumstance which still further confirmed Redhand in
his suspicions.

After an eager, hasty consultation, it was resolved that they should
follow the savages, and if their trail was found to diverge, as was
fully expected, towards the fort, that they should endeavour to pass
them in the night, and proceed by forced marches, in order to get there
in time to warn the fur-traders of their impending danger.

In less than an hour after the Indians left them, the trappers were
galloping after them in hot haste. During the course of the day they
found that the trail doubled back, as they had anticipated, so, making a
wide detour, they headed the Indians, and during the afternoon got a
little in advance of them on their way to the Mountain Fort.

But the trappers had a subtle enemy to deal with. Just as the Indians
were about to encamp that night for a few hours' rest, they chanced to
diverge a short way from the direct line of march, and, in doing so,
crossed the tracks of the trappers. A halt was called, and a minute
inspection of the tracks made. One of the savages