When he had been separated from Wetzel several hours, and concluded he would slowly return to camp, he ran across a well-beaten path winding through the forest.

This was, perhaps, one of the bridle-trails Wetzel had referred to.

He bent over the worn grass with keen scrutiny.
CRACK! The loud report of a heavily charged rifle rang out.

Joe felt the zip of a bullet as it fanned his cheek.

With an agile leap he gained the shelter of a tree, from behind which he peeped to see who had shot at him.