It came from the hunter's wet coat.
Almost any one save an Indian scout would have fancied this came from the roof.

As the chief's gaze roamed everywhere over the interior of the cabin his expression was plainly distrustful.

His eye searched the wet clay floor, but hardly could have discovered anything there, because the hunter's moccasined tracks had been obliterated by the footprints of the Indians.

The chief's suspicions seemed to be allayed.
But in truth this chief, with the wonderful sagacity natural to Indians, had observed matters which totally escaped the young braves, and, like a wily old fox, he waited to see which cub would prove the keenest.

Not one of them, however, noted anything unusual.
They sat around the fire, ate their meat and parched corn, and chatted volubly.
The chief arose and, walking to the ladder, ran his hand along one of the rungs.
"Ugh!" he exclaimed.
Instantly he was surrounded by ten eager, bright-eyed braves.