; the
dark-hair has been here, and she has fled like a frightened fawn, to the
wood; none who could fly would remain to be murdered. Let us search
for the marks she left; for, to Indian eyes, I sometimes think a
humming-bird leaves his trail in the air."

The young Mohican darted away at the suggestion, and the scout had
hardly done speaking, before the former raised a cry of success from the
margin of the forest. On reaching the spot, the anxious party perceived
another portion of the veil fluttering on the lower branch of a beech.

"Softly, softly," said the scout, extending his long rifle in front of
the eager Heyward; "we now know our work, but the beauty of the trail
must not be deformed. A step too soon may give us hours of trouble. We
have them, though; that much is beyond denial."

"Bless ye, bless ye, worthy man!" exclaimed Munro; "whither then, have
they fled, and where are my babes?"

"The path they have taken depends on many chances. If they have gone
alone, they are quite as likely to move in a circle as straight, and
they may be within a dozen miles of us; but if the Hurons, or any of the
French Indians, have laid hands on them, 'tis probably they are now
near the borders of the Canadas. But what matters that?" continued the
deliberate scout, observing the powerful anxiety and disappointment
the listeners exhibited; "here are the Mohicans and I on one end of
the trail, and, rely on it, we find the other, though they should be a
hundred leagues asunder! Gently, gently, Uncas, you are as impatient
as a man in the settlements; you forget that light feet leave but faint
marks!"

"Hugh!" exclaimed Chingachgook, who had been occupied in examining an
opening that had been evidently made through the low underbrush which
skirted the forest; and who now stood erect, as he pointed downward, in
the attitude and with the air of a man who beheld a disgusting serpent.

"Here is the palpable impression of the footstep of a man," cried
Heyward, bending over the indicated spot; "he has trod in the margin of
this pool, and the mark cannot be mistaken. They are captives."

"Better so than left to starve in the wilderness," returned the scout;
"and they will leave a wider trail. I would wager fifty beaver skins
against as many flints, that the Mohicans and I enter their wigwams
within the month! Stoop to it, Uncas, and try what you can make of the
moccasin; for moccasin it plainly is, and no shoe."

The young Mohican