ut to withdraw carefully lest he be discovered, when he was
startled by a touch on his elbow. It was Injin Charley.

"Dey go up river," he said. "I come see what de row."

The Indian examined rapidly the condition of the little camp.

"Dey look for somethin'," said he, making his hand revolve as though
rummaging, and indicating the packs.

"I t'ink dey see you in de woods," he concluded. "Dey go camp gettum
boss. Boss he gone on river trail two t'ree hour."

"You're right, Charley," replied Thorpe, who had been drawing his own
conclusions. "One of them knows me. They've been looking in their packs
for their note-books with the descriptions of these sections in them.
Then they piled out for the boss. If I know anything at all, the boss'll
make tracks for Detroit."

"W'ot you do?" asked Injin Charley curiously.

"I got to get to Detroit before they do; that's all."

Instantly the Indian became all action.

"You come," he ordered, and set out at a rapid pace for camp.

There, with incredible deftness, he packed together about twelve pounds
of the jerked venison and a pair of blankets, thrust Thorpe's waterproof
match safe in his pocket, and turned eagerly to the young man.

"You come," he repeated.

Thorpe hastily unearthed his "descriptions" and wrapped them up. The
Indian, in silence, rearranged the displaced articles in such a manner
as to relieve the camp of its abandoned air.

It was nearly sundown. Without a word the two men struck off into the
forest, the Indian in the lead. Their course was southeast, but Thorpe
asked no questions. He followed blindly. Soon he found that if he did
even that adequately, he would have little attention left for anything
else. The Indian walked with long, swift strides, his knees always
slightly bent, even at the finish of the step, his back hollowed, his
shoulders and head thrust forward. His gait had a queer sag in it, up
and down in a long curve from one rise to the other. After a time Thorpe
became fascinated in watching before him this easy, untiring lope, hour
after hour, without the variation of a second's fraction in speed nor an
inch in length. It was as though the Indian were made of steel springs.
He never appeared to hurry; but neither did he ever rest.

At first Thorpe followed him with comparative ease, but at the end of
three hours he was compelled to put forth decided efforts to keep pace.
His walking was no longer mechanical, but conscious. When it becom