vals he would stop and listen. The strange voices of the woods
were not mysteries to him. They were more familiar to him than the
voices of men.

He recalled that, while on his circuit over the ridge to get behind
the cavern, he had heard the report of a rifle far off in the
direction of the chestnut grove, but, as that was a favorite place
of the settlers for shooting squirrels, he had not thought anything
of it at the time. Now it had a peculiar significance. He turned
abruptly from the trail he had been following and plunged down the
steep hill. Crossing the creek he took to the cover of the willows,
which grew profusely along the banks, and striking a sort of bridle
path he started on a run. He ran easily, as though accustomed to
that mode of travel, and his long strides covered a couple of miles
in short order. Coming to the rugged bluff, which marked the end of
the ridge, he stopped and walked slowly along the edge of the water.
He struck the trail of the Indians where it crossed the creek, just
where he expected. There were several moccasin tracks in the wet
sand and, in some of the depressions made by the heels the rounded
edges of the imprints were still smooth and intact. The little pools
of muddy water, which still lay in these hollows, were other
indications to his keen eyes that the Indians had passed this point
early that morning.

The trail led up the hill and far into the woods. Never in doubt the
hunter kept on his course; like a shadow he passed from tree to tree
and from bush to bush; silently, cautiously, but rapidly he followed
the tracks of the Indians. When he had penetrated the dark backwoods
of the Black Forest tangled underbrush, windfalls and gullies
crossed his path and rendered fast trailing impossible. Before these
almost impassible barriers he stopped and peered on all sides,
studying the lay of the land, the deadfalls, the gorges, and all the
time keeping in mind the probable route of the redskins. Then he
turned aside to avoid the roughest travelling. Sometimes these
detours were only a few hundred feet long; often they were miles;
but nearly always he struck the trail again. This almost superhuman
knowledge of the Indian's ways of traversing the forest, which
probably no man could have possessed without giving his life to the
hunting of Indians, was the one feature of Wetzel's woodcraft which
placed him so far above other hunters, and made him so dreaded by
the savages.

Descending