Look how these here little trails are wobblin' about." "Hope we kin come up afore the Injuns begin to draw thar tomahawks," said Tom Ross.
The others were silent, but they knew the dreadful significance of Tom's remark, and Henry glanced at them all, one by one.
"It's the greatest danger to be feared," he said, "and we must overtake them in the night when they are not suspecting.

If we attack by day they will tomahawk the captives the very first thing." "Shorely,', said the shiftless one.
"Then," said Henry, "we don't need to hurry.

We'll go on until about midnight, and then sleep until sunrise." They continued at a fair pace along a trail that frontiersmen far less skillful than they could have followed.

But a silent dread was in the heart of every one of them.

As they saw the path of the small feet staggering more and more they feared to behold some terrible object beside the path.
"The trail of the littlest child is gone," suddenly announced Paul.
"Yes," said Henry, "but the mother has picked it up and is carrying it.
See how her trail has suddenly grown more uneven." "Poor woman," said Paul.