This party of Indians had either killed or captured the white man who had been hunting.

Wetzel believed that a part of the Indians would push on with all possible speed, leaving some of their number to ambush the trail or double back on it to see if they were pursued.
An hour of patient waiting, in which he never moved from his position, proved the wisdom of his judgment.

Suddenly, away at the other end of the grove, he caught a flash of brown, of a living, moving something, like the flitting of a bird behind a tree.

Was it a bird or a squirrel?
Then again he saw it, almost lost in the shade of the forest.

Several minutes passed, in which Wetzel never moved and hardly breathed.