CHAPTER IX.
The course of Stackpole was through the woods, in a direction immediately opposite to that by which Roland had ridden to his assistance.
"He is going to the Lower Ford," said Telie, anxiously.

"It is not too late for us to follow him.

If there are Indians in the wood, it is the only way to escape them!" "And why should we believe there _are_ Indians in the wood ?" demanded Roland; "because that half-mad rogue, made still madder by his terrors, saw something which his fancy converted into the imaginary Nick of the Woods?
You must give me a better reason than that, my good Telie, if you would have me desert the road.

I have no faith in your Jibbenainosays." But a better reason than her disinclination to travel it, and her fears lest, if Indians were abroad, they would be found lying in ambush at the upper and more frequented pass of the river, the girl had none to give; and, in consequence, Roland (though secretly wondering at her pertinacity, and still connecting it in thought with his oft-remembered dream), expressing some impatience at the delays they had already experienced, led the way back to the buffalo-road, resolved to prosecute it with vigour.

But fate had prepared for him other and more serious obstructions.
He had scarce regained the path, before he became sensible, from the tracks freshly printed in the damp earth, that a horseman, coming from the very river towards which he was bending his way, had passed by whilst he was engaged in the wood liberating the horse-thief.