"If they have that jug of whiskey with them, they are too drunk to hear anything by this time." "We must look for the place where they left the path." "It is rather dark to look for anything tonight," I replied, as I led the way back. We proceeded with great care, though we made noise enough to apprise Firefly of the approach of friends. He was a knowing old horse, and had faithfully served his master for ten years, but was still a very useful animal. I fancied that he despised Indians quite as much as old Matt himself, and that he was utterly disgusted with his present situation and future prospects. Doubtless he was very uneasy, and displeased at being away from his rude but comfortable stable. The grass had just begun to start a little in the wet soil, and as our stock of hay was getting low, I had picketed them with long ropes where they could feed. In this situation they had become an easy prey to the Indians. I hoped old Firefly would speak again, and I ventured upon a low whistle, to inform him of my presence, but he did not respond. The other horse was a good beast, and worked intelligently by Firefly's side at the plough and the wagon: but he was an ignoramus compared with his mate, and I expected nothing of him. "They can't be far from here," said I, as I halted and whistled again a little louder than before. "We must examine the ground, and see if there are any horse tracks," replied Mr. Mellowtone, as he lighted a match to enable us to see the path. "No tracks here," I added. "They all lead the other way." "Then they turned in farther down." We resumed our walk, but in a few minutes we examined the ground again. "Here they are," said my companion. "They turned in between this place and that where we stopped last. Whistle again, Phil Farringford." "We are farther from them now than when I heard the voice of old Firefly," I replied, after I had whistled in vain several times. "But we are on the track of the horses. There can be no doubt of that," answered Mr. Mellowtone. "We can follow their trail till we find where they left the path." "I hope you have a good supply of matches." "I have about a dozen more." We examined the path in several places, and at last found that the Indians had left it to follow a small brook which flowed into the Little Fish. I whistled at intervals, but received no response from Firefly. The stream which was our guide did not lead us far from the creek. "I smell smoke," said Mr. Mellowtone, after we had proceeded a considerable distance. "We are not far from them." "I don't see the light of any fire." "Probably it has burned down by this time, for the Indians must be asleep." I whistled, and this time a very decided answer came back from Firefly. "We are close by them," said I; and involuntarily we slackened our pace. "I am afraid the noise that horse makes will awaken the Indians."