Great as the shock of the sudden attack and his narrow escape was, Ree gave only a little yell of surprise and anger, and ran in the direction from which the shot had come, drawing his pistol as he went. He found no one. Though utterly regardless of the danger he might be in by thus exposing himself, he made a careful search. "Land o' livin', boy, ye'll be meat for the redskins before ye've crossed the frontier, if ye don't be keerful!" cried the woodsman, quickly coming up, springing from tree to tree, and thus always keeping their protecting trunks between himself and the point from which the mysterious shot had been fired. "What is the varmint pepperin' away at ye so, for?" "I haven't the least idea, for I don't know who it is," Ree answered. But he was glad the woodsman's frank manner left no room to suspect him of treachery, although there had been grounds for this suspicion in the circumstance of the shot having been fired just as his own rifle and that of his friend had been discharged. John had remained on guard beside Jerry and the cart, watchful for any sign of their strange enemy, completely mystified by the attack. Presently he joined Ree and the hunter who were searching for the trail of the would-be assassin. Tracks were found at last (high up on the rocky hillside)--those of a white man, for he wore boots; but they were very faint and Ree declared he would waste no time in attempting to follow them. "But I do believe, John," he said, "that the shot which wounded North Wind was intended for me, and the fellow who shot, then, fired again to-day." "You are thinking of Big Pete; I know you are!" John answered. "But I am sure you are mistaken, Ree. Why it was miles and miles away that North Wind was shot, and there hasn't been a day since then but what we could have both been killed, perhaps, by some one hidden along the road." The woodsman, when he had heard the story, coincided with John's opinion and Ree said nothing more, though he was not convinced that he was wrong. The brisk talk of the stranger turned the boys' thoughts to other subjects as the journey was resumed. He was by no means a disagreeable fellow. His real name was "Thomas Trout," he said, but he was everywhere known as "Tom Fish." He had tramped over all the hills and valleys for miles around and seemed to know the country thoroughly. He accepted the boys' invitation to eat dinner with them, and gave a share of the pounded parched corn he carried in a pouch at his belt, in return for venison and coarse corn bread, John having baked the latter on a flat stone beside their camp-fire, the previous night. When in the afternoon, Tom Fish left the boys he told them they would be likely to see him at Fort Pitt, and gave them many directions as to where they had better "put up" while at Pittsburgh, as he called the place, such being its new name at that time.