By noon the party had advanced some considerable distance, and were probably not far in the rear of the pursued—­at least such was the opinion of Boone—­when they were again, to their great vexation, put at fault for the trail, by the cunning of the renegade, who, to prevent all accidents, had here once more broken it, by entering another small streamlet—­a branch of Eagle river; and although our friends set to with all energy and diligence to find it, yet, from the nature of the ground round about, the darkness of the wood through which the rivulet meandered, and several other causes, they were unable to do so for three good hours.

This delay tended not a little to discourage the younger members of our pursuing party, who, in consequence, began to be low spirited, and less eager than before to press forward when the trail was again found; but a few words from Boone in a chiding manner, telling them that if they faltered at every little obstacle, they would be unfit representatives of border life, served to stimulate them to renewed exertions.  To add to the discomfort of all—­not excepting Boone himself—­the sun, which had thus far shone out warm and brilliant, began to grow more and more dim, as a thick haze spread through the atmosphere overhead, foretokening an approaching storm—­an event which might prove entirely disastrous to their hopes, by obliterating all vestiges of the pursued.  As the gallant old hunter moved onward with rapid strides—­preceded by the faithful brute, which, on the regular trail, greatly facilitated their progress, by saving the company a close scrutiny of their course—­he from time to time cast his eyes upward and noted the thickening atmosphere with an anxious and troubled expression.

For some time the sun shone faintly; then his rays became entirely obscured, and his position could only be discerned by a bright spot in the heavens; this, ere he reached the horizon, became obscured also; when the old hunter, who had watched every sign closely, looking anxiously toward the west, observed: 

“I don’t like it, lads; thar’s a storm a brewing for sartin, and we shall be drenched afore to-morrow morning.  Howsomever,” he continued, “it arn’t the wetting as I cares any thing about—­for I’m used to the elements in all thar stages, and don’t fear ’em no more’n a dandy does a feather bed—­but the trail will be lost, in arnest this time; and then we’ll have to give in, or follow on by guess work.  It’s this as troubles me; for I’m fearful poor Ella and Reynolds won’t get succor in time.  But keep stout hearts, lads,” he added, as he noticed gloomy expressions sweep over the faces of his followers; “keep stout hearts—­don’t get melancholy; for in this here world we’ve got to take things as we find ’em; and no doubt this storm’s all for the best, ef we could only see ahead like into futurity.”