“’Sdeath!” said Roland, looking on the marks, as Nathan, pointed them out in the soft earth, and reflecting with chagrin how wildly he had been rambling, for more than an hour, since they had been impressed on the soil.

“Thee knows the hoof-marks,” said Nathan, now pointing with a grin, at other tracks of a different appearance among them; “perhaps thee knows these foot-prints also?”

“They are the marks of footmen,” said the soldier, in surprise; “but how came they there I know not, no footmen being of our party.”

The grin that marked the visage of the man of peace widened almost into a laugh, as Roland spoke.  “Verily,” he cried, “thee is in the wrong place, friend, in the forest!  If thee had no footmen with thee, could thee have none after thee?  Look, friend, here are tracks, not of one man, but of five, each stepping on tiptoe, as if to tread lightly and look well before him,—­each with a moccasin on,—­each with a toe turned in; each—­”

“Enough,—­they were Indians!” said Roland, with a shudder, “and they must have been close behind us!”

“Now, friend,” said Nathan, “thee will have more respect for Peter; for, truly, it was Peter told me of these things, when I was peaceably hunting my game in the forest.  He showed me the track of five ignorant persons rambling through the wood, as the hawk flies in the air,—­round, round, round, all the time,—­or like an ox that has been browsing on the leaves of the buck-eye;[7] and he showed me that five evil-minded Shawnees were pursuing in their trail.  So thinks I to myself, ’these poor creatures will come to mischief, if no one gives them warning of their danger;’ and therefore I started to follow, Peter showing me the way.  And truly, if there can any good come of me finding thee in this hard ease, thee must give all the thanks and all the praise to poor Peter!”

[Footnote 7:  The buck-eye, or American horse-chestnut, seems to be universally considered, in the West, a mortal poison, both fruit and leaves.  Cattle affected by it are said to play many remarkable antics, as if intoxicated—­turning, twisting, and rolling about and around, until death closes their agonies]

“I will never more speak ill of a dog as long as I live,” said Roland.  “But let us away.  I thought our best course was to the Lower Ford; but, I find, I am mistaken.  We must away in the opposite direction.”

“Not so,” said Nathan, coolly; “Peter is of opinion that we must run the track over again; and, truly, so am I. We must follow these, same five Injuns:  it is as much as our lives are worth.”

“You are mad!” said Roland.  “This will be to bring us right upon the skulking cut-throats.  Let us fly in another direction:  the forest is open before us.”