After gathering up their packs and putting out all the fires, the Indians started out for their final camp. It was pitch dark when they arrived at the selected place, and they all rolled up in their blankets wherever they could find a level space big enough to hold them. Three of the Redmen stalked away through the trees to keep watch over the sleeping tribe, and both Dick and Fritz were glad that they were not forced to take turns standing guard, after so long a day on the trail. The next morning proved to be wet and rainy, and, although the Indians apparently did not object to the condition of the weather, the boys were both very uncomfortable. Their long campaigning, however, had taught them to make the best of everything. A careful investigation failed to disclose the whereabouts of the British troop, and Dick and Fritz finally decided to go ahead to the river bank, which was only a mile from where they had slept, and see what prospect there was of getting a canoe. One of the Indians accompanied them, and they hurried briskly down the trail through the fog. They had almost reached the river's edge, when the Redman saw the glimmer of a fire through the mist and the trees. Crouching quickly, he pulled Dick and Fritz with him, and pointed in the direction of the blaze. Evidently the fire was but just started and not burning strongly as yet, for it would flare up and die down as a breeze encouraged it or the dampness retarded it. "Indian," whispered the companion. "How do you know?" asked Dick, searching about him for some sign of life. The redskin pointed to the faint track of two moccasined feet, both exactly parallel with each other. "White man no walk like that," said their companion. "Wonder if they're friends or foes?" whispered Dick to Fritz. The Dutch boy's teeth chattered with the cold when he started to talk, but the Indian motioned for them to be silent. "Come," he said, leading the way into some long wet grass. Wriggling carefully along on their stomachs, the three made a detour about the spot where they figured the camp to be. The Indian left them for a few moments and approached nearer to the fire. In a moment he was back again. "No good Indian," he said, in a low voice. "Not friend of Telca's people. Not friend of white boy." "How many?" questioned Dick. The Indian held up both hands to indicate that he had counted ten figures in the Indian camp. "Canoe on shore," he added in a whisper. "Only one?" asked Dick, in surprise. "Five canoe," replied the Indian. "If we can only get one," said Dick, "we'll be fixed for several days to come." Just then the sound of a volley of musketry came to their ears. "Mein gootness, what is dot?" said Fritz, excitedly. "The British," whispered Dick. "It's firing from the valley. The troopers have evidently caught up to our friends." "Dose oder red-fellers has heard, too," said Fritz. The three in the grass peered anxiously at the hazy group about the strange camp fire.