Reginald and Ethelston looked at the speaker with undisguised astonishment; and War–Eagle, although he could not believe but what the latter was mistaken, continued thus to question him: “My brother’s speech is dark; if he could find no trail of the women, why does he think that they are on the path? Have the Washashee carried them?” “Not so,” replied Wingenund. “Twice the trail crossed a soft bank of sand, where water runs from the mountains in winter: there were the marks of two who had passed lately, their feet large as those of the warriors, the tread light as that of a woman or young boy.” The chief was very reluctant to say or do aught that might give pain to his young brother, whose future success as war–leader of the Lenapé had ever been the object of his fondest hopes; but in the urgent business in which they were now engaged, he felt that all other considerations must be secondary to the recovery of Olitipa, and revenge on Mahéga for the loss and disgrace inflicted on the Lenapé. “My brother has eyes as sharp, and feet as light, as a panther,” he said in a kindly tone, “but a trail in this strange country may deceive a man who has been on the war–path for twenty summers. The trail followed by War–Eagle goes through that small valley between the hills,” pointing to the north–west. “Attō was with him; they knew the iron hoof of Olitipa’s horse; they found this scrap, torn from her dress by a bramble stretching across the path. Is my brother satisfied?” As the chief spoke he held up before the council a shred of a silk kerchief, such as none, certainly, except she whom they sought, was likely to have worn in that region. Again a murmur of approbation ran through the assembly; and Reginald, vexed that his young friend should have been subjected to such a disappointment, looked towards him, in order to see whether he bore it with equanimity. The countenance of Wingenund underwent not any change, save that a quiet smile lurked in the corner of his mouth, as he replied, “My brother and Attō are both known on the war–path; their feet are swift, and no lies are found on their lips; it must be true that they have seen the hoof–print of Olitipa’s horse; it is true that the piece of dress torn off by the bramble belonged to her. Very cunning are the Washashee wolves; they have tried to blind the eyes of the Lenapé; they have made two paths; let my brother follow that which he has found and Wingenund the other; perhaps they joined beyond the mountain.” “There is sense in what the lad proposes,” said Baptiste, who had listened attentively hitherto, without speaking, and who remembered the acuteness shown by Wingenund near the banks of the Ohio. “If he is sure that he has been on the Washashee trail, ’tis like enough they have divided, to throw us off the scent; they will come together again further north.”