of my presence, but he did not respond. The
other horse was a good beast, and worked intelligently by Firefly's
side at the plough and the wagon: but he was an ignoramus compared with
his mate, and I expected nothing of him.

"They can't be far from here," said I, as I halted and whistled again a
little louder than before.

"We must examine the ground, and see if there are any horse tracks,"
replied Mr. Mellowtone, as he lighted a match to enable us to see the
path.

"No tracks here," I added. "They all lead the other way."

"Then they turned in farther down."

We resumed our walk, but in a few minutes we examined the ground again.

"Here they are," said my companion. "They turned in between this place
and that where we stopped last. Whistle again, Phil Farringford."

"We are farther from them now than when I heard the voice of old
Firefly," I replied, after I had whistled in vain several times.

"But we are on the track of the horses. There can be no doubt of that,"
answered Mr. Mellowtone. "We can follow their trail till we find where
they left the path."

"I hope you have a good supply of matches."

"I have about a dozen more."

We examined the path in several places, and at last found that the
Indians had left it to follow a small brook which flowed into the
Little Fish. I whistled at intervals, but received no response from
Firefly. The stream which was our guide did not lead us far from the
creek.

"I smell smoke," said Mr. Mellowtone, after we had proceeded a
considerable distance. "We are not far from them."

"I don't see the light of any fire."

"Probably it has burned down by this time, for the Indians must be
asleep."

I whistled, and this time a very decided answer came back from Firefly.

"We are close by them," said I; and involuntarily we slackened our
pace.

"I am afraid the noise that horse makes will awaken the Indians."

"They are beastly drunk, without a doubt, and no ordinary sounds will
rouse them," I replied. "If they had known what they were about, they
would not have built a fire. They are not more than two miles from Kit
Cruncher's cabin."

In silence, then, and very cautiously, we crept towards the bivouac of
the Indians. In a few moments I saw the four horses, fastened to the
trees: but between us and them lay the extended forms of the two
Indians. They reposed on the ground, one on each side of the
smouldering embers of a fire they had kindled earlier in the evening.