He saw a few old deer tracks in the mud and several huge bird tracks new to him which he concluded must have been made by wild turkeys.
The trail divided at this pond.

Jean had no idea which branch he ought to take.

"Reckon it doesn't matter," he muttered, as he was about to remount.

His horse was standing with ears up, looking back along the trail.

Then Jean heard a clip-clop of trotting hoofs, and presently espied a horseman.
Jean made a pretense of tightening his saddle girths while he peered over his horse at the approaching rider.