, "an'
them that couldn't-well, the tomahawk."

The trail was leading them toward the Seneca country, and they had no
doubt that the Indians were Senecas, who had been more numerous than
any others of the Six Nations at the Wyoming battle. They came that
afternoon to a camp fire beside which the warriors and captives had
slept the night before.

"They ate bar meat an' wild turkey," said Long Jim, looking at some
bones on the ground.

"An' here," said Tom Ross, "on this pile uv bushes is whar the women an'
children slept, an' on the other side uv the fire is whar the warriors
lay anywhars. You can still see how the bodies uv some uv 'cm crushed
down the grass an' little bushes."

"An' I'm thinkin'," said Shif'less Sol, as he looked at the trail that
led away from the camp fire, "that some o' them little ones wuz gittin'
pow'ful tired. Look how these here little trails are wobblin' about."

"Hope we kin come up afore the Injuns begin to draw thar tomahawks,"
said Tom Ross.

The others were silent, but they knew the dreadful significance of Tom's
remark, and Henry glanced at them all, one by one.

"It's the greatest danger to be feared," he said, "and we must overtake
them in the night when they are not suspecting. If we attack by day they
will tomahawk the captives the very first thing."

"Shorely,', said the shiftless one.

"Then," said Henry, "we don't need to hurry. We'll go on until about
midnight, and then sleep until sunrise."

They continued at a fair pace along a trail that frontiersmen far less
skillful than they could have followed. But a silent dread was in the
heart of every one of them. As they saw the path of the small feet
staggering more and more they feared to behold some terrible object
beside the path.

"The trail of the littlest child is gone," suddenly announced Paul.

"Yes," said Henry, "but the mother has picked it up and is carrying it.
See how her trail has suddenly grown more uneven."

"Poor woman," said Paul. "Henry, we're just bound to overtake that
band."

"We'll do it," said Henry.

At the appointed time they sank down among the thickest bushes that they
could find, and slept until the first upshot of dawn. Then they resumed
the trail, haunted always by that fear of finding something terrible
beside it. But it was a trail that continually grew slower. The Indians
themselves were tired, or, feeling safe from pursuit, saw no need of
hurry. By and by the trail of the smallest