u mought reckon, but off yon way," pointing across
the creek and down the road to the southward.

Jennifer heard him through, had him set it all out again in plainest
fashion, and after all could only say: "You are sure you have the
straight of it, Eph?"

The borderer appealed to Uncanoola. "Come, Chief; give us the wo'th of
your jedgment. Has the old Gray Wolf gone stun-blind? or did he read
them sign like they'd ort to be read?"

"Wah! the Gray Wolf has sharp eye--sharp nose--sharp tongue, sometime.
Sign no can lie when he read 'um."

Jennifer turned to me. "What say you, Jack? 'Tis all far enough beyond
me, I'll confess."

I was as much at sea touching the mystery as he was; yet the thing to do
seemed plain enough.

"Never mind the baronet's mystery; 'tis Mistress Margery's hazard that
concerns us," I would say. And then to Ephraim Yeates: "Will this rain
kill the trail, think you?"

He shook his head dubiously. "I dunno for sartain; 'twill make a heap o'
differ' if they was anyways anxious to hide it. Ez it starts out, with
the women a-hossback, 'tis plain enough for a blind man to lift on the
run."

"Then let us be at it," said I. "We can very well afford to let the
mystery untangle itself as we go." And with this the pursuit began in
relentless earnest.

The trail of the two horses ridden by Margery and her woman cut a right
angle with the road, turning northwest along the left bank of the
stream; and, despite the rain, which was now pouring steadily even in
the thick wood, the hoof-prints were so plainly marked that we could
follow at a smart dog-trot.

In this speeding the old hunter and the Indian easily outwearied
Jennifer and me. They both ran with a slow swinging leap, like the
racking gait, half pace, half gallop, of a well-trained troop horse.
Mile after mile they put behind them in these swinging bounds; and when,
well on in the afternoon, we stopped to eat a snack of the cold meat and
to slake our thirst at one of the many rain pools, I was fain to follow
Jennifer's lead, throwing myself flat on the soaking mold to pant and
gasp and pay off the arrears of breathlessness.

This breathing halt was of the briefest; but before the race began
again, Ephraim Yeates took time to make a careful scrutiny of the trail,
measuring the stride of the horses, and looking sharply on the briars
for some bit of cloth or other token of assurance. When we came up with
him he was mumbling to himself.

"Um-hm