Startled, I said nothing; the Mohican studied the print for a few moments, then, crouching, crept forward among the sand-willows.

I followed; and at long intervals I could make out the string of moccasin tracks, still visible in the loose, dry sand.
"Could it be the St.Regis ?" I whispered.

"He may have been here spearing fish.

These tracks are not new....

And the Wyandotte might have overlooked these, too." "Maybe St.Regis," he said.
We had now crept nearly to the edge of the water, the dry and scarcely discernible tracks leading us.