The sharp eyes of the leading brave had discovered their trail! It had been a fatal blunder, their neglecting to cover this up in some manner, although, at the time, it might have seemed as though there was not one chance in a thousand the hostiles would come that way. No one moved, even though they must have felt hot and cold by turns, as the terrible result of the discovery flashed before their minds. The Indians were jabbering together in excited tones, though what they were saying the boys could only guess, since they knew nothing of the Blackfoot tongue. The white trader was apparently as curious as any of the dusky braves in his company. He even dropped down on his hands and knees, the better to examine the footprints. Of course it would be patent to them that the tracks were made by white men. What would be the result? Would they surmise that the three daring invaders of the Evil Manitou's Wonderland, the forge where he made all his thunderbolts, must be secreted near by? Could they read that those tracks had just been made, since blades of brown grass were still springing up after being pressed down? Perhaps Lascelles even knew that Dick and Roger were searching for Jasper Williams! He seemed to be superhuman when it came to learning things that were supposed to be secret. And, if that were so, then it was indeed a gloomy outlook that faced the pioneer boys. Dick could only catch his breath and watch to see what would happen next; that, and grip his gun tighter in his hands as he crouched waiting for the explosion. He knew their presence in the copse was suspected, for the trader was even then pointing straight at the patch of bushes, and saying something to his red companions. CHAPTER XX PRISONERS OF THE BLACKFEET FLIGHT was out of the question, for the boys could hardly hope to excel those fleet-footed Indian braves, however successful Mayhew might have proved. Indeed, there was little time given to any of them to think of escape. When the wily French trader had conveyed his suspicions to some of the Blackfoot braves there was a concerted dash toward the clump of bushes. Some of the Indians started to circle around, evidently in the expectation that, if the whites were concealed, they would attempt flight, and the idea of these runners was to forestall any such dash. "We must hold them back or all is lost!" exclaimed Mayhew, who, being an experienced Indian fighter, doubtless knew the weak and strong points of the red men, no matter to what tribe they belonged. The report of his long-barreled rifle followed his words almost instantly. There could be no question but that his bullet found its billet, for Mayhew was a crack shot.