stared at it a moment, then ran splashing through the stream to look again. Close beside his own footprints and fresher even than they, were the marks of moccasined feet, as plain as those footprints of the big dog, Nicholas, that he had seen once, as plain and much more ominous. Some person had been following him through the wood, tracking him so closely and eagerly that he had not taken the pains to cover his own trail.
Hugh stood still and looked and listened with every nerve tense, but there was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard. The forest was as silent as a forest in a dream. He crossed the brook again, and climbed the hill hastily. More than once he turned his head quickly and looked back over his shoulder, but there was never a stirring leaf nor a snapping twig to prove that he was being followed. He made his way homeward in the straightest line possible, thinking deeply all the way.
Time passed, the weather grew colder and the daylight shorter, but still the pirates made no move. Only the blue haze of their smoke going
