For a little way we followed it, seeing other and narrower trails branching from it right and left, running I knew not whither — the narrow, delicate lanes made by game — deer and bear, fox and hare — all spreading out into the dusk of the unknown forest.

Presently we came to a trail which seemed wet, as though swampy land were not far away; and into this the Mohican turned, slashing a great scar on the nearest tree as he entered it.

There was a mossy stream ahead, and the banks of it were dark and soft. Here we rested high and dry on the huge roots of an oak, and ate our midday meal.

In a little while the remainder of our party came gliding through the trees, Boyd ahead.

“Is this the Catharines-town trail?”