He briefly explained how he had come to be in the woods, and then he waited to see what Johnny Green would propose. The Indian stood his rifle up against a tree, stalked off into the darkness, and returned presently, lugging the body of the wild-cat, which he threw on the ground near the smouldering fire. Seeing that the blaze was dying out for lack of fuel, Roger cast on some twigs and branches, until the flames leaped up brightly. Johnny Green squatted down on a log, and Roger followed his example. For a moment there was silence between them. Then the Indian spoke. "Not much good for eat," he said, indicating the carcass of the dead animal he had shot. "Radder have coon. Fur of 'um good; that all." "Were you out hunting coons?" asked Roger, and Johnny Green nodded that he was. "Will you show me the way back home, when you are through hunting?" asked the boy, after a pause. The Indian nodded his head once more, to indicate that he would act as guide. He looked to the loading of his rifle, and then proceeded to tie the legs of his prize. He slung the body about his neck, picked up his gun, and looking at Roger, said: "Come 'long. We go to Bert Kimball. I show yo'." He paused to trample out the embers of the fire, that it might not spread in the dry woods, and then he started off through the forest, seeming to strike the path without even looking for it. Roger hesitated a moment, then followed. The boy kept close behind his guide, who walked at rather a swift pace, as though he was on a country road, instead of being in the depths of the wood, with only a pale moon, now half obscured by clouds to light him. The boy could not help admiring the unhesitating manner in which the Indian picked his way through the maze of trees. It was what might be expected of a wild Indian, Roger thought; of one who had lived all his life in the open. But here was apparently a civilized redman, who had not a chance to exercise his woodcraft in years, perhaps. Yet he made no false steps and moved as swiftly through the dark woods as Roger could have done on a brilliantly lighted street. It must be a sort of animal instinct the boy concluded. For a few minutes after he started Roger could not help feeling a bit distrustful. How could he be sure that the Indian was what he said he was? How could he know that Johnny Green would guide him safely to his uncle's house? Once he was almost on the point of turning back, but the thought of the dark forest into which he would have to plunge, without knowing where the path was, and the fear that there were hiding behind the trees more and uglier wild animals than he had yet encountered, deterred him.