"That is so, and a clever idea, too. Wait and see. Perhaps they may come on, and pass near us here," Bob remarked, "for we are close to the trail, which I am sure lies over by that leaning sycamore tree." So they sat down to wait and listen for more signs. "This certainly beats our woods back in Virginia," remarked Bob, as he looked around at the great primeval forest that surrounded them, the trees of tremendous girth and beginning to show a new crop of bright green leaves. "Yes," responded his brother, reflectively, "it is indeed a wonderful country, and, from the signs, just overflowing with game. There was that salt-lick we ran across two days ago; why, from the marks, thousands of deer and buffalo must visit it every year. That very night we shot three fine stags and a doe, you remember." "Yes, and I was sorry we killed that last one, for she had a little, spotted fawn running at her heels, and of course it will die, being left uncared for." Bob was a true sportsman. He loved to hunt game, but something within always prevented him from killing more than he could use. And that is ever the mark of one who truly loves Nature. Believing that these good things are provided by an all-wise Creator for the enjoyment of man, they look on it as a sin to waste any such bounties. "There, that was a shout, and close by, too. I think it must have been Darby calling to that lazy beast of his, which wants to lie down in every little stream we have to ford. Yes, there he breaks out again," said Sandy. "And from the row that is going on, and the laughing, I fear the beast has done what he's been threatening to do this long while, and rolled over in a brook. But I can see them now, over yonder," said Bob, pointing. Presently the straggling line of pack-horses came along. When the head man saw what a fine supply of meat the two young Nimrods had awaiting them, he gave the word to pitch camp. "The afternoon is going, and we could hardly find a better spot than right here," he observed; at which there was a bustle all around, for camp always meant a period of ease and rest from the weary tramping over rough ground. "But what is that you are carrying, Sandy?" demanded David Armstrong, as he came along with his two horses, his wife and Kate tramping at their side with the steadiness of squaws, for they had become accustomed to such vigorous and healthy labor. "An Indian's bow and arrow which we picked up after Bob shot and wounded the owner, who was trying to get me," the boy quickly replied. At the word "Indian" others came to stare at the weapon with curiosity, not unmixed with alarm, for they knew only too well that now they had burned their bridges behind them, for there could be no going back, and every day carried them further and further into the debatable country of the Shawanees, which later on would be known as the "dark and bloody ground." CHAPTER X ATTACKED BY INDIANS "IT looks as if Pat expected trouble to-night, Bob."