I know the place.

There's a fine spring, an, look! D'ye see them crows flyin' round thet big oak with the bleached top?
Hear them cawin'?
You might think they was chasin' a hawk, or king-birds were arter 'em, but thet fuss they're makin' is because they see Injuns." "Well ?" asked Joe, impatiently.
"It'll be moonlight a while arter midnight.

We'll lay low an' wait, an' then---" The sharp click of his teeth, like the snap of a steel trap, completed the sentence.

Joe said no more, but followed the hunter into the woods.

Stopping near a fallen tree, Wetzel raked up a bundle of leaves and spread them on the ground.