“How, chief! what mean you?” asked Girty, quickly.

“The Shemanoes—­“[9]

“Well?” said Girty.

“Are on the trail,” concluded Wild-cat, briefly.

“Ha!” exclaimed the renegade, with a start, involuntarily placing his hand upon the breech of a pistol in his girdle.  “But are you sure, Peshewa?”

“Peshewa speaks only what he knows,” returned the chief, quietly.

“Speak out, then—­how do you know?” rejoined Girty, in an excited tone.

“Peshewa a chief,” answered the Indian, in that somewhat obscure and metaphorical manner peculiar to his race.  “He sleeps not soundly on the war-path.  He shuts not his eyes when he enters the den of the wolf.  He saw the camp-fires of the pale-face.”

Such had been the fact.  Knowing that his trail was left broad and open, and that in all probability it would soon be followed, Wild-cat had been diligently on the watch and as his course had been shaped in a roundabout, rather than opposite direction (as the reader might at first glance have supposed) from that taken by Boone, he and his band, by reason of this, had encamped, on the night in question, not haif a mile distant from our old hunter, but on the other side of the ridge.  Ascending this himself, to note if any signs of an enemy were visible, Peshewa had discovered the light of Boone’s fire, and traced it to its source.  Without venturing near enough to expose himself, the wily savage had, nevertheless, gone sufficiently close to ascertain they were the foes of his race.  His first idea had been to return, collect a part of his warriors, and attack them; but prudence had soon got the better of his valor; from the fact, as he reasoned, that his band were now in the enemy’s country, where their late depredations had already aroused the inhabitants to vengeance; and he neither knew the force of Boone’s party—­for the reader will remember they were concealed in a cave—­nor what other of his foes might be in the vicinity;—­besides which, his purpose had been accomplished, and he was now on the return with his prisoners;—­the whole of which considerations, had decided him to leave them unmolested, and ere daylight resume his journey; so that, even should they accidentally come upon his trail, he would be far enough in advance to reach and cross the river before them.  Such was the substance of what Wild-cat, in his own peculiar way, now made known to Girty; and having inquired out the location distinctly, the latter exclaimed: 

“By heavens!  I remember leaving that ridge away to the right, which proves that the white dogs must have been on my trail.  I took pains enough to conceal it before that night; but if they got the better of me, I don’t think they did of the rain that fell afterwards—­so that they have doubtless found themselves on a fool’s errand, long ere this, and given up the search.  Besides, should they reach the river’s bank, they have no means of crossing, and therefore we are safe.”