Their headdresses were tall and wonderful, their leggings and moccasins fringed with scalp locks; their hatchets glinted in the sunshine, and their quivers were stuck full of arrows. One by one they glided from the stream into the thick woods beyond. We waited until we knew that they were were deep in the forest, then crept from the willows and went our way.

“They were Youghtenunds,” I said, in the low tones we used when we spoke at all, “and they went to the southward.”

“We may thank our stars that they missed our trail,” Diccon answered.

We spoke no more, but, leaving the stream, struck again toward the south. The day wore on, and still we went without pause. Sun and shade and keen wind, long stretches of pine and