He came hurriedly back to where Wetzel was working, and spoke in a voice which he vainly endeavors to hold steady: "Come quickly.

I have seen something which may mean a good deal." He led the way down to the brookside.
"Look!" Joe said, pointing at the water.
Here the steam was about two feet deep, perhaps twenty wide, and had just a noticeable current.

Shortly before, it had been as clear as a bright summer sky; it was now tinged with yellow clouds that slowly floated downstream, each one enlarging and becoming fainter as the clear water permeated and stained.

Grains of sand glided along with the current, little pieces of bark floated on the surface, and minnows darted to and fro nibbling at these drifting particles.
"Deer wouldn't roil the water like that.

What does it mean ?" asked Joe.
"Injuns, an' not fer away." Wetzel returned to the shelter and tore it down.