“They are quite six hours ahead of us,” he said; “and to-morrow night will see them, before we will.” “They must be making for the ford[8], above the Piasan Bluffs,” said White; “and, if so, will not cross the Mississippi.” “That is rather too far north,” Edgar replied; “but we will follow them, if they go to the Starved Rock.” So saying, he threw the saddle again upon his horse, and—imitated by his companions—remounted for the pursuit. “I think, George,” said he, after a minute’s reflection, “you had better ride on to the Portage; the men will all be there by the middle of the afternoon. Tell them to bait their horses for an hour, and then follow us with all speed, so as to join us at the mouth of the Illinois by sunrise to-morrow. Unless the trail should lead us too much out of the way, we will wait for them there. If you do not find us there, look for three columns of smoke, ranging north and south, and make all haste to come up.” Fielding made no reply; but, putting spurs to his horse, turned his head to the west, and was soon out of sight—while Edgar and White, now left alone, took their way as rapidly as was possible up the banks of the stream. It was a small force with which to attack twenty savages; but, had the odds been ten times greater, Edgar’s eagerness and White’s zeal would have felt no check. What they might not effect by the strong hand, they trusted to stratagem to compass; and even the savage was no match for the ranger, in cunning. The two adventurers had gone scarcely a mile, when they were brought suddenly to a halt. The trail was about equally divided—one half the party keeping up the bed of the stream, and the other half issuing toward the left, and leading off westward. This was embarrassing. The prisoner could not be with both divisions; and it was extremely difficult to determine which to follow. “We are at fault,” said Edgar. “There is a sign which may set us right,” exclaimed White, pointing to a little strip of some white stuff which fluttered upon a bush, but a few paces from the water. “The briars have befriended us at need.” Edgar rode rapidly to the place. A narrow strip—evidently torn from Jane’s bridal dress—hung fluttering upon a briar, as if caught in passing. He halted at the distance of several yards, and cautiously approached on foot, closely scrutinizing the ground at every step. The horses had passed, without doubt, near enough to brush against the briars; but directly beneath the fragment, a small dry twig was broken, and the leaves about it were flattened to the ground. “A mocassined foot has been set there,” he muttered. And on directing the examination to the fragment, his suspicion was confirmed—that it was not accident, but design which placed it there. The fabric was not drawn, as it would have been, had it been torn in passing; and it bore marks of a larger hand than Jane’s.