An hour later, the sky was entirely clear, and the army set out. The fierce rainfall made travel infinitely more arduous. Deep swamp and sink-hole were worsened by the downpour. The men had frequently to dismount and wade in water and muck to their armpits. But two stray Pottawattomees, who were met with, reported that the Hawk and his harried band were now only three miles in advance; and the troopers eagerly hurried on, notwithstanding their empty stomachs and wet clothes. So intense were their efforts, that by sunset of the second day, July 20, they reached the lakes, going into camp for the night on the bank of the Third Lake. At daybreak of the twenty-first, the troops were up and stirring. After fording the Catfish River, a small tributary, they swept across the isthmus between the Third and Fourth Lakes in regular line of battle, pushing their way through a gloomy forest with dense thickets of underbrush. The four scouts, along with others, were constantly in the fore, making sure that the guileful Hawk was not setting up an ambush. Once through this timber tract, the pursuit waxed even hotter. The advance was so rapid, and the heat so fearful, that forty horses gave out during the day. When his mount keeled over, the trooper would trudge on foot, throwing away his camp-kettle and other pack; thus following the example of the fugitive redskins, whose path was littered with Indian mats, pots, kettles, and other camp paraphernalia discarded in the wild hurry of flight. Then, too, Sac stragglers were now and then being taken prisoners, chiefly old men, squaws and children who were worn out by the frenzy of the pursuit and the lack of food in the Hawk’s camp. Two of the wrinkled warriors, who showed fight, had to be shot. About three o’clock in the afternoon, another area of thick hardwoods was reached. The ranger scouts, as usual, were well in front of the column. Tom Gordon was crouched behind the trunk of a great oak, his roving eyes searching every covert before him. He knew that brother Ben, Bill Brown and the eagle-eyed Bright Star were spread out to right and left, engaged in the same risky task. Beyond a narrow forest glade, thirty yards away, lay a thicket of undergrowth, and Tom surveyed it with great sharpness. He must be absolutely certain that no red warrior skulked there, waiting to shoot him down as he crossed the open space. The boy looked so closely that it seemed to him that he knew every bush and briar and vine. Presently a bough swayed, and then a bush shook, and the keen eyes of the young scout saw it. He hugged the protecting trunk of the big oak and the muzzle of his rifle nudged forward; but he was mighty careful not to make the slightest sound.