Here for two days they remained, miserable and half starved, having lost part of their meagre supplies. Further progress was impossible; the storm continued with unabated fury, pouring down wet snow or flooding all things with blinding rain. Every ravine was a foaming torrent, the lower ground was a vast morass; muskegs had become lakes, and the higher ground was still sticky with half-melted drifts of snow. A six-month of winter does not vanish in three days of rain. Their sole consolation was that the trail was swept away, and the enemy could be in no better situation. No sign of human life was visible. Finally, on the fourth morning the skies had emptied themselves, the sun came out strong and glorious, and the soaked forest began to steam. With their last food gone, the two men broke camp and set forth. All that morning they pushed steadily toward the northwest, following a long rolling ridge which walled the valley. Sharply as they scanned sky and horizon, closely as they searched the green-banked treecrests and the farther slopes, they could detect no indication of life, no greyish trickle of ascending smoke. Yet it was unthinkable that Maclish would give up his pursuit. Early in the afternoon Crawford, desperate for food and confident that the enemy were left far behind, knocked over a rabbit with his musket, the shot sending mighty echoes from the trees. Half an hour later the two men built a cautious fire and made shift to cook the rabbit in the heart of a fir-thicket. Hunger partially appeased, they lighted pipes and rested while their outer moccasins, moss-stuffed, dried by the fire-embers. Over his pipe Frontin evinced a growing uneasiness, and at last growled out an oath. “I think the loneliness of this accursed wilderness has crept into my brain. I have the feeling that eyes are watching us.” Crawford flung him a sharp look. “Any reason for it?” “None.” “We’ve scouted well, and the woods are open enough. If we were in Mohawk land,” added Crawford thoughtfully, “it would be different; but these northern Indians are not Iroquois, and don’t know how to work in Iroquois fashion.” “But they are no fools, as we know to our cost.” Frontin swept the trees around with his fierce hawk-like gaze. At this instant Crawford caught the distinct “click” of a fusil brought to cock; and from close at hand a voice addressed them in French. “Have my brothers never heard who taught the dogs of Iroquois how to hunt? Let them look through the forest. Perhaps they will see the chief of the Wolf nation.”