not a ripple, but as though the edge of an invisible reef slightly affected the smooth-flowing, glassy surface of the stream.

“He might have overlooked that,” said I.

The Sagamore’s visage became very smooth; and we climbed down among the willows toward the sand below, and there the Mohican dropped on his hands and knees.

Directly under his eyes I saw the faint print of a moccasin. Startled, I said nothing; the Mohican studied the print for a few moments, then, crouching, crept forward among the sand-willows. I followed; and at long intervals I could make out the string of moccasin tracks, still visible in the loose, dry sand.

“Could it be the St. Regis?” I whispered. “He may have been here spearing fish. These tracks are not new� . And the Wyandotte might have overlooked these, too.”