I also saw something moving far below us among the trees. As yet it was only a mere spot in the dim light of the trail, slowly ascending the height of land. Nearer, nearer it came, until at length we could see that it was a man. But no rifle slanted across his shoulder.

“He must be one of our own people,” I said, puzzled. “Somebody sends us a messenger. Is he white or Indian?”

“White,” said the Sagamore briefly, his eyes still riveted on the approaching figure, which now I could see was clothed in deerskin shirt and leggins.

“He carries neither pack nor rifle; only a knife and pouch. He is a wood-running fool!” I said, disgusted. “Why do they send us such a forest-running battman, when they have