kle_, _tinkle_, was so regular that nothing was
plainer than that no living quadruped could have made the sound.

"That was not the cow," whispered the startled Terry; "she has more
sinse than to do any thing of the kind, as me uncle used to obsarve whin
he was accused of kaapin' sober; but I'll find out by the same token
what it all means."

Since he had no firearms with which to defend himself, and since he was
sure he was threatened by danger, he ought to have hastened homeward;
but his curiosity would not permit him to do so.

He advanced with all the caution possible, parting the obstructing
bushes in front and stepping as lightly on the carpet of leaves as
though he were a scout entering the camp of an enemy. He often stopped,
listened and peered, not only in front and the sides, but to the rear.
Whatever might take place, he did not intend to be surprised.

He had advanced a couple of rods in this manner, when a faint sound from
the bell caught his ear, but was instantly suppressed, as though some
one had stopped at the instant he started to sway it. Faint as was the
tinkle, however, he was able to locate the precise point whence it came,
and after a little hesitation he moved toward it.

All at once he caught sight of a figure in a crouching position,
stepping softly among the trees and undergrowth. He stood still, and a
moment later was able to distinguish the figure of an Indian warrior,
bending slightly forward, advancing inch by inch and holding the cow-bell
in his hand.

CHAPTER IV.

A PARTY OF THE THIRD PART.

The Indian warrior whom Terry Clark saw advancing stealthily through the
undergrowth, cow-bell in hand, was a frightful object. His head and
shoulders were bent forward, and he was stepping slowly and silently,
while he glanced from right to left, as if searching for some object, or
awaiting the occurrence of an expected event. His face was daubed with
black and red paint, his long hair, as coarse as that of a horse's tail,
dangled about his shoulders and alongside his neck, so that his eyes,
when staring through it, seemed to be blazing among so much tangled
brush. The ordinary hunting shirt, fringed in front, inclosed his chest,
and was gathered at the waist by a sash or belt into which were thrust
his hunting knife and tomahawk. The usual breechcloth, leggins and
moccasins completed his dress.

He carried a fine rifle in his left hand, in a trailing position, while
a powder horn