foliage, Jolie saw the huge bulk of a buffalo bull in the path below, another and another and another—bulls, cows, and calves plodding onward in single file until two hundred or more had passed.
Almayne watched them eagerly, anxiously. Finally, when the last of them had vanished, he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
"I feared that when they smelled our traces they would break into the woods," he said to Lachlan. "Luck's with us. That herd will wipe out our tracks in the buffalo path."
For a moment he sat his horse, thinking deeply, tugging at his white moustache, his lean brown hand fingering his rifle. Then, with a gruff word to his piebald pony, he led the way along the mountain side, turning at last not down towards the path, but up the slope through the woods towards the ridge's summit. Presently he beckoned Lachlan and the latter rode forward and joined him.
"A mile beyond the divide," he said, "we can strike the old trading road, leading to the Keowee river ford and thence to the Fort. The road is hard and broad and we can make speed. What think you, lad? Shall we keep to the woods or risk a dash in the open?"
Lachlan, pondering the question, saw the hunter's face grow suddenly tense, saw his lips frame a smothered exclamation, saw the long black rifle leap to his shoulder. Almost instantly came the rifle's holiow crash, and next moment from the forest ahead of them rang out a long, quavering yell.
