If such a party was ahead of us--and it was still a question--we knew that they could not possibly be aware of the defeat sustained by their comrades under Red-Hand; and, having no knowledge of their own predicament, would fight without that dread, which such a circumstance might otherwise have inspired. It was scarcely probable either, that their party would be a very small one--by no means as small as our own. It was not likely that less than a dozen of their warriors would venture over ground, where, at every moment, they would risk meeting with a more powerful band of their Utah enemies--to say nothing of an encounter with a retaliating party from the Mormon train? Weighing the probabilities that Arapahoes were ahead of us, we had taken due precaution to avoid the contingency of meeting them. We had looked for "sign" to contradict our suspicions, or confirm them. We had not found any--either tracks of their horses, or any other trace of their passage along the trail. In the canon, yes. There we had seen the hoof-prints of their horses: but not beyond it, nor at the entrance of Robideau's Pass. If they had gone forward, it must have been by some parallel route, and not upon the trail of the emigrant waggons? Nor yet upon the area of the encampment had we been able to meet with any indications of their presence: though we had spent the last minutes of daylight in a careful scrutiny of the ground. As for myself I looked for indications of a very different kind; but equally without success. The absence of all Lilian sign satisfied us that we had no enemy to fear. Even the wary trapper saw no imprudence in our making a fire, and one was made--a large pile, for which the half-burnt faggots scattered over the camp afforded the ready material. The fire was not called for by the cold--for the night was a mild one-- but simply to serve the purposes of our _cuisine_; and, hungered by the long ride, we all did full justice to our supper of dried deer-meat, eaten _alfresco_. After the meal the men of us sat around the fire, indulging in that luxury--esteemed sweet by the prairie traveller--the fumes of the Nicotian weed. Marian had retired to her tent; and, for a few minutes, was lost to our sight. After a short time she came forth again; but, instead of joining us by the cheerful _hearth_, she was seen sauntering down in the direction of the stream. This caused a defection in our party. The young backwoodsman rose to his feet; and silently, but with rather an awkward grace, walked towards the tent--not Marian's. He might as well have spared himself the trouble of taking up some of his accoutrements, and pretending to examine them. The feint was perfectly transparent to the rest of us--especially when the action ended, by his strolling off almost on the identical track taken by the huntress-maiden!