there's no use of going any further on _this_
track, for I ain't gettin' any nigher the gal, that's pretty sartin.
From what that Teddy told me of his travels, it can't be that she's
anywhere in these parts, for if she war, he couldn't have helped
l'arning something of her in all this time. There's a tribe up north
that I've heard was great on gettin' hold of white gals, and I think
I'll make a s'arch in that direction afore I does anything else."

Nothing more remained for Tim but to carry out the resolution he had
made, and it was characteristic of the man that he did it at once.
Five minutes after the above words had been muttered, he was walking
rapidly along in a northern direction, his rifle thrown over his arm,
and a beaming expression of countenance that showed there were no
regrets at the part he was acting. He had a habit of talking with
himself, especially when some weighty or unusual matter obtruded
itself. It is scarcely to be wondered, therefore, that he became quite
talkative at the present time.

"I allers admire such adventur's as this, if they don't bring in
anything more nor thanks. The style in which I've received them is
allers worth more money nor I ever made trapping beavers. The time I
cotched that little gal down on the Osage, that had been lost all
summer, I thought her mother would eat me up afore she'd let me go. I
believe I grinned all day and all night for a week after that, it made
me think I was such a nice feller. Maybe it'll be the same way with
this. Hello!"

The trapper paused abruptly, for on the ground before him he saw the
unmistakable imprint of a moccasin. A single glance of his experienced
eye assured him upon that point.

"That there are Injins in these parts is a settled p'int with me, and
that red and white blood don't agree is another p'int that is settled.
That track wasn't made there more nor two hours ago, and it's pretty
sartin the one that made it ain't fur away at this time. It happens it
leads to the north'ard, and it'll be a little divarsion to foller it,
minding at the same time that there's an Injin in it."

For the present the trapper was on a trail, and he kept it with the
skill and certainty of a hound. Over the dry leaves, the pebbly earth,
the fresh grass, the swampy hollow--everywhere, he followed it with
unerring skill.

"That Injin has been on a hunt," he muttered, "and is going back home
agin. If it keeps in this direction much longer, I'll believe