“Here,” said Boone, as himself and companions entered the streamlet, whose clear, bright waters, to the depth of some three inches, rolled merrily over a smooth bed, with a pleasing murmur:  “Here, lads, I reckon we’ll have difficulty; for the red varmints never enter a stream for nothing; and calculating pretty shrewdly they’d be followed soon, no doubt they’ve taken good care to puzzle us for the trail.  Ef it be as I suspect, we’ll divide on the other side, and a part o’ us go up, and a part down, till we come agin upon thar track.  But then agin,” added Boone, musingly, with a troubled expression, “it don’t follow, that because they entered the stream they crossed it; and it’s just as likely they’ve come out on the same side they went in; so that we’ll have to make four divisions, and start on the sarch.”

Accordingly on reaching the other shore, and finding the trail was lost, Boone divided the party—­assigning each his place—­and separating, six of them recrossed the stream; and dividing again, two, headed by Isaac, went up, and two, led by Henry Millbanks, went down along the bank; while Boone and Seth Stokes, with the rest, proceeded in like manner on the opposite side; and the dog flew hither and yon, to render what service he could also.  For something like a quarter of an hour not the least trace of the savages could be found, when at last the voice of Isaac was heard shouting: 

“I’ve got it—­I’ve got it!  Here it is, jest as plain and nateral as cornstalks—­Hooray!”

In a few minutes the whole company was gathered around Isaac, who pointed triumphantly to his discovery.

“That’s the trail, sure enough,” observed Boone, bending down to scan it closely; “and rather broad it is too.  It’s not common for the wily varmints to do thar business in so open a manner, and I suspicion it’s done for some trickery.  Look well to your rifles, lads, and be prepared for an ambush in yon thicket just above thar, while I look carefully along this, for a few rods, just to see ef I can make out thar meaning.  They’ve spread themselves here considerable,” continued the old hunter, after examining the trail a few minutes in silence; “but ef they think to deceive one that has been arter ’em as many times as I, they’ve made quite a mistake; for I can see clean through their tricks, as easy as light comes through greased paper.”

“What discovery have you made now?” inquired young Millbanks, who, together with the others, pressed eagerly around Boone to hear his answer.

“Why I’ve diskivered what I war most afeard on,” answered the woodsman.  “I’ve diskivered that the varmints have divided, for the sake of giving us trouble, or leading us astray from them as they cares most about.  See here!” and bending down to the ground, Boone pointed out to his young companions, many of whom were entirely ignorant of that ingenious art of wood-craft, whereby the experienced hunter knows his safety or danger in the forest as readily as the sailor knows his on the ocean, and which appears to the uninitiated like a knowledge superhuman—­Boone pointed out to them, we say, three distinct foot prints, which he positively asserted were neither made by the Indians nor the captives of the ravine.