re here in these woods now. I'm sure
of it, and they know of the presence of our fleet. We ought to be very
cautious."

Larkin laughed again, and his laugh contained the slightest touch of
irony.

"I'll wager there ain't an Indian within fifty miles," he exclaimed,
"an' if there was one he wouldn't keep us from our buffalo, would he,
Pierre, old fellow?"

He slapped the Frenchman on the back, and Cazotte returned the laugh.

"Not a hundred Indians could keep us from heem," he replied. "I taste
the steaks of that mighty buffalo now. Ah, they so good!"

Henry flushed through his tan. He did not like even that slight touch of
irony. He had held in mind a tiny prairie not more than two miles away
where they were almost absolutely sure to find deer feeding, but he
abandoned the idea and thought of another and larger prairie, of which
he and Shif'less Sol had caught a glimpse three or four miles further
on. It was quite likely that buffalo would be found grazing there.

"Very well," he said, "if you're bound to have it that way I'll lead
you. Come."

He led swiftly to the northeast, and Larkin, Cazotte, and the others,
already tasting their hunting triumph, followed. The undergrowth
thinned, but the trees grew larger, spreading away like a magnificent
park--maples, oak, beech, hickory and elm. Henry was glad to see the
bushes disappear, but for the second time that day the sound that made
the chill run down his spine came to his ear, the warning note of the
wind among the leaves. It soon passed, and he did not hear it again.

The open woods ceased, and the bushes began once more, thicker than
ever. They were compelled to go much more slowly, and Henry, risking
another laugh at himself, told them to make as little noise as possible.

"Anyway, if Indians are about they'll hear us shootin' our buffaloes,"
said Larkin. "So we needn't mind a little snappin' an' cracklin' of the
bushes."

"It's a good plan in the woods never to make any noise, when you can
help it," said Henry.

The others heeded him for a few moments, but soon relapsed into their
slovenly ways. It sounded to Henry's sensitive ear as if an army were
passing. But he would not speak again of the need of caution, knowing
how soon another warning would be disregarded. Meanwhile he kept a wary
watch in behalf of his careless comrades, searching the thickets with
eye and ear, and trying to guard them from their own neglect.

Another mile passed, the third