Yet as the morning progressed there was no hostile sign and their confidence rose.

Robert hoped most devoutly that they would soon come within the region of friends.  While the French and Indians held the whole length of Lake Champlain and it was believed Montcalm would fortify somewhere near Ticonderoga, yet Lake George was debatable.  It was generally considered within the British and American sphere, although they were having ample proof that fierce bands of the enemy roved about it at will.

Aside from the danger there was another reason why he wished so earnestly for escape from this tenacious pursuit.  They were seeing the bottoms of their knapsacks.  One could not live on air and mountain lakes alone, however splendid they might be, and, although the wilderness usually furnished food to three such capable hunters, they could not seek game while Tandakora and his savage warriors were seeking them.  So, their problem was, in a sense, economic, and could not be fought with weapons only.

At a signal from Willet, who observed that Grosvenor was somewhat tired, they sank their pace to a slow walk, and in about three hours stopped entirely, sitting down on fallen timber which had been heaped in a windrow by a passing hurricane.  They were still in dense forest and had borne away somewhat from Andiatarocte, but, through the foliage, they caught glimpses of the lake rippling peacefully in silver and blue and purple.

“Once more I want to thank you fellows for saving me,” said Grosvenor.

“Don’t mention it again,” said the hunter.  “In the wilderness we have to save one another now and then, or none of us would live.  Your turn to rescue us may come before you think.”

“I know nothing of the forest.  I feel helpless here.”

“Just the same, you don’t know what weapon Tayoga’s Manitou may place in your hands.  The border brings strange and unexpected chances.  But our present crisis is not over.  We’re not saved yet, and we can’t afford to relax our efforts a particle.  What is it, Tayoga?”

The Onondaga, rising from the fallen tree, had gone about twenty yards into the forest, where he was examining the ground, obviously with great concentration of both eye and mind.  He waited at least a minute before replying.  Then he said: 

“Our friend, the lone ranger, Black Rifle, has passed here.”

“How can you know that?” asked Grosvenor in surprise.

“Come and look at his traces,” said Tayoga.  “See where he has written his name in the earth; that is, he has left what you would call in Europe his visiting card.”

Grosvenor looked attentively at the ground, but he saw only a very faint impression, and he never would have noticed that had not the Onondaga pointed it out to him.

“It might have been left by a deer,” he objected.

“Impossible,” said Tayoga.  “The entire imprint is not made, but there is enough to indicate very clearly that a human foot and nothing else pressed there.  Here is another trace, although lighter, and here another and another.  The trail leads southward.”