"Then turn this way, and look between those two leaning trees," said the guide. "But be careful that you move slowly. It is the quick actions that catch the suspicious eye of an Injun." "Oh! now I can see them plainly," whispered Roger. "They are heading straight for us!" "Blackfoot warriors for a certainty!" Dick muttered. "Can you see the white man plainly, Dick?" asked Roger, impatiently. "Not just yet," came the reply. "He must be back among some of the Indians who hide him. But we will soon know what to expect. Keep watching." Almost immediately Roger himself gave a grunt. It sounded as though bitter chagrin was connected with the sound. "There, I saw him plainly, Dick," he whispered, "and it isn't Jasper Williams at all. The man is a Frenchman, unless my eyes deceive me, and I ought to know what one of them looks like." "I believe it is none other than our old enemy, François Lascelles!" Dick said in the ear of his cousin; a bit of information that must have given poor Roger a strange thrill, for he could not have imagined any more discouraging news. "Oh! what if he runs across us here?" "We would have to fight for our lives, I fear. That man hates all our family about as bitterly as I've heard my father say another Frenchman named Jacques Larue once did." "But see how many there are of the Indians; a full dozen or more. They look as fierce as any braves I ever saw. I hope they pass by, and fail to notice us." "Keep still, Roger, they are getting too close now for us to talk, even in whispers. Be ready for the worst, even while hoping for the best. That is the Armstrong motto, you know. 'Sh!" Roger fixed himself so that he could see everything that went on without making the slightest movement. He knew those keen eyes of the red sons of the forest were quick to detect a suspicious movement, no matter how slight, and that, if he so much as lifted his hand, discovery would follow. The Indians were coming forward in a string, or what the trappers of that day called "Indian file," one stepping in the footprints of the brave ahead of him. In this fashion it would be difficult for any enemy on finding their trail to know whether three or twenty had passed. It was a piece of Indian cunning, and a part of their nature, since it could hardly have been undertaken for any particular reason at this time. They were heading directly toward the copse, but, since it would offer a bar to their progress, they might turn aside when it was reached. The boys almost held their breath as they watched the approach of those fierce-looking Blackfeet. Up to then the brave who was held a prisoner in the Mandan village had been the only member of this noted tribe they had seen at close quarters. (Note 7.)