Jack awoke at daylight and found that he was alone.  Solomon returned in half an hour or so.

“Been scoutin’ up the trail,” he said.  “Didn’t see a thing but an ol’ gnaw bucket.  We’ll jest eat a bite an’ p’int off to the nor’west an’ keep watch o’ this ’ere trail.  They’s Injuns over thar on the slants.  We got to know how they look an’ ’bout how many head they is.”

They went on, keeping well away from the trail.

“We’ll have to watch it with our ears,” said Solomon in a whisper.

His ear was often on the ground that morning and twice he left Jack “to snook” out to the trail and look for tracks.  Solomon could imitate the call of the swamp robin, and when they were separated in the bush, he gave it so that his friend could locate him.  At midday they sat down in deep shade by the side of a brook and ate their luncheon.

“This ’ere is Peppermint Brook,” said Solomon.  “It’s ‘nother one o’ my taverns.”

“Our food isn’t going to last long at the rate we are eating it,” Jack remarked.  “If we can’t shoot a gun what are we going to do when it’s all gone?”

“Don’t worry,” Solomon answered.  “Ye’re in my kentry now an’ there’s a better tavern up in the high trail.”

They fared along, favored by good weather, and spent that night on the shore of a little pond not more than fifty paces off the old blazed thoroughfare.  Next day, about “half-way from dawn to dark,” as Solomon was wont, now and then, to speak of the noon hour, they came suddenly upon fresh “sign.”  It was where the big north trail from the upper waters of the Mohawk joined the one near which they had been traveling.  When they were approaching the point Solomon had left Jack in a thicket and cautiously crept out to the “juncshin.”  There was half an hour of silence before the old scout came back in sight and beckoned to Jack.  His face had never looked more serious.  The young man approached him.  Solomon swallowed—­a part of the effort to restrain his emotions.

“Want to show ye suthin’,” he whispered.

The two went cautiously toward the trail.  When they reached it the old scout led the way to soft ground near a brook.  Then he pointed down at the mud.  There were many footprints, newly made, and among them the print of that wooden peg with an iron ring around its bottom, which they had seen twice before, and which was associated with the blackest memories they knew.  For some time Solomon studied the surface of the trail in silence.

“More’n twenty Injuns, two captives, a pair o’ hosses, a cow an’ the devil,” he whispered to Jack.  “Been a raid down to the Mohawk Valley.  The cow an’ the hosses are loaded with plunder.  I’ve noticed that when the Injuns go out to rob an’ kill folks ye find, ’mong their tracks, the print o’ that ’ere iron ring.  I seen it twice in the Ohio kentry.  Here is the heart o’ the devil an’ his fire-water.  Red Snout has got to be started on a new trail.  His ol’ peg leg is goin’ down to the gate o’ hell to-night.”