urf was firm, and the hoof-marks were not deep; but Basil
had a hunter's eye, and could follow the track of a fawn. In a few
minutes he arrived on the spot where he had killed the turkey. The
blood and feathers upon the grass made him sure of this. Here he halted
a moment, until he could determine the direction in which he had
approached this spot. That was at length resolved to his satisfaction;
and he rode slowly in the back-track. After a few lengths of his horse
had been passed over, the trail doubled. Basil followed the double, and
came back, passing almost over the same ground again. Again it doubled
as before, and again and again, without going a hundred yards from the
place where the bird had been shot. All these turnings the young hunter
retraced with the greatest care and patience. In this he showed his
judgment and his knowledge of hunter-craft; for, had he grown impatient
and taken a wider range to find the trail, he might have fallen upon his
last-made tracks, and thus have brought himself into a regular maze.

After a while the circles in which he travelled became larger; and, to
his great joy, he at length found himself advancing in a straight line.
Many horse-tracks crossed his trail; some of them nearly as fresh as his
own. These did not baffle him. They were the tracks of mustangs; and
although Black Hawk was not shod any more than they, his rider knew the
print of the latter's hoof as well as he knew the appearance of his own
rifle. The Arab's track was considerably larger than those of the wild
horses.

After following the trail backward for nearly an hour,--his eyes all the
time bent upon the ground,--he was suddenly startled by a voice calling
him by name. He looked up, and beheld Lucien by the edge of the woods.
With a shout of joy he plied the spur and rode forward. As he drew
near, however, his feeling of joy became one of painful apprehension.
There was Lucien,--there were Jeanette and Marengo,--_but where was
Francois_?

"Where is Francois?" inquired Lucien, as Basil rode up.

The latter could hardly speak, so strong were his emotions.

"O brother!" he faltered out at length, "has Francois not returned?"

"No," answered Lucien, "I was thinking he was with you, and you would
come back together. I have been wondering what could have detained you
so long."

"O God, he is lost!" cried Basil, breaking into an agony of grief.
"Lucien! Lucien! our brother is lost!"

"Lost! wh