But when they had picked their way through the awful bog, peering closely to right and left, their puzzlement grew. Neither on the trail, nor in the slimy marshes on either hand, had they noted a sign of life. The fearsome swamp was silent as the tomb, refusing to yield up the secret of the blood-chilling screams. “I have it, Bill!” said Tom suddenly. “You’ve solved the myst’ry?” “Yes, that was the death-cry of the Sac scout!” “Great Jupiter, do you think so?” “Aye, Bill. He was sucked to his doom in the deadly mud, a victim of the black swamps of the Koshkonong.” CHAPTER 19 Pursuit of Black Hawk When Colonel Dodge had been informed by the two scouts of the surprising result of their nocturnal mission, his rage at the duplicity of the White Crow was fearful to see. With a mighty effort, however, he controlled his feelings, and his handsome face was once more bland and impassive as he summoned the Winnebago chief to his presence. “Ho, Kaukishkaka,” he said, in a disarming manner, “can you not find us an easier trail? This one is nothing more than a series of mud-holes, each one worse than the last. We make poor progress.” “The trail grows better each day,” promised the Crow, never blinking an eye. “That is sweet music to my ears; for we are eager to look down our gun barrels at the Sacs. How many more days of travel, till we reach the hiding-place of Black Hawk?” “It is yet far, oh Big Knife. Nearly three suns.” “Three days farther! You are sure of that?” “The Crow does not speak with a forked tongue,” reiterated the Winnebago, drawing himself stiffly to his fullest height. “So I have heard you say!” cried Dodge. His easy, genial tone was suddenly gone, and his words cracked out like the snap of a whip-lash. A strange light came into the one, gleaming eye of the wily Winnebago. It was clear that he had a presentment of what was to come. “But you do speak with a forked tongue!” continued the officer sternly. “How so, oh Big Knife?” “The camp of Black Hawk is not three suns away. It is less than one sun away.” “What magic tells you that?” “No magic at all, Kaukishkaka. Last night I sent out scouts, who slipped through the swamps and spied out the Sac ambush.” “I know nothing of ambush,” said the Crow shiftily. “Mayhap the accursed Hawk has seen fit to move his camp. He does not tell me of his comings and goings.” “Faugh!” exclaimed Dodge angrily, “I denounce you as a lying, scheming rascal. You are in league with Black Hawk. But for the diligence of my scouts, we might have been caught in your clever snare. Take him away, guards! When we march again, fasten ropes to his legs under his horse’s belly. He is a slippery eel, so watch him well.”