ould have been as distinct as a beaten path. He therefore
adopted the plan of which I have made mention elsewhere: he followed a
general rule.

The conclusion being that the parties for whom he was searching had
located themselves somewhere along the creek, it was useless to try and
follow the footprints, though there were points here and there where the
sense of touch might have helped him. He decided to creep stealthily up
stream until he found the camp, and then bide his time.

It is hard to form an idea of the extreme care with which this was done.
Had the Winnebago not known of the presence of Deerfoot, he would not
have taken half the time consumed, but he had seen enough of that
wonderful youth to know that it would require more than a child to
outwit him.

At a point about half way between the trail and the camp among the
rocks, the Wolf thought his hands touched some imprints in the earth
which showed that the three had turned to the right and gone deeper into
the woods. It required reconnoitering before he discovered his mistake.

With the same amazing patience he renewed his stealthy progress up the
stream, until at last he emerged into the moonlight and found that at
last he had reached the spot for which he had hunted so long.

It so happened that as he straightened up, he looked directly into the
mouth of the cave and saw the dull glow of the camp-fire, like the open
eye of some monster. Not only that, but he observed the three forms
stretched out by it. The heart of the savage throbbed with pleasure, for
he felt that success had come at last.

With the same absolute noiselessness he began creeping into the mouth of
the cavern. One of the embers fell apart with a soft rustle, which
caused him to stop and hold his breath lest the sleepers should awake.
But they did not stir, and in a minute he resumed his advance.

The two white lads had flung the blankets from their faces, so that he
saw Fred Linden plainly, and enough of the other to identify him as the
one who had smitten him. Nearer to the Winnebago than they was the third
form, which he knew equally well.

"It is the Shawanoe," was his thought; "I will bury my knife in his
heart and then slay the others."

A minute later he reached forward his upraised right hand and suddenly
brought it down with a force that pinned the blanket to the earth. But
to his unspeakable disgust Deerfoot was not within it.

CHAPTER XIX.

SHAWANOE AND WINNEB