"That's more'n I can tell ye." And Boone shook his head. "I've knowed him off an' on hard on twenty year. He raises crops there, an' goes on reg'lar spring an' fall hunts after Injuns. They killed off his fam'ly, I reckon, an' God ain't softened his heart yet--though He will some day, I reckon. He most gen'rally does-- _Lay down_! _Quick_!" The last three words shot out with vehement force; instinctively, Norton obeyed the swift gesture and ducked forward. Something sang over his head, almost brushing his hair; there came a crack on the wind, and he looked up to see a little drift of white rise from a clump of cottonwoods a hundred yards away. Before he quite realized what had happened, the rifle was torn out of his hand and Boone was sighting. The flint fell uselessly, and with a muttered curse the old frontiersman slipped from his horse and ran for the trees whence had come the shot. Norton, now comprehending, was after him instantly. Active though he was, he had hard work keeping up with Boone. Together they gained the trees, to find nothing more than a slight tinge of powder on the air, until Boone leaned over the ground, pointing. "Here he was, the skunk! Come on, now." His trained eye making out the tracks, Norton followed. After five minutes they came out on Beargrass Creek, and on the opposite shore was no trail. "Slipped us," cried Boone savagely. "Consarn him! He might ha' gone up or down, so let's git out o' here whilst our hides are safe." Whereupon, the old woodsman turned and incontinently made for the horses, as did Norton. The assassin had had time to reload, and tracking him in the river bed was impossible. When they had regained the horses, Boone held out something to Norton. "Find the feller who owns this, an' ye've got him. I reckon your errand has slipped out, friend." Norton smiled faintly at the grim sarcasm in the old man's voice, and looked at the object. It was the plug of a powder-horn evidently dropped in haste. Finely carved in greyish horn, the stopper was crossed lengthwise by a band of red. "You find a feller with a horn what's got a red streak in it," went on Boone, "and a wooden plug; he's wearin' Shawnee moccasins instead o' boots; he's left-handed, 'cause he rested his rifle that side o' the tree, an' I wouldn't wonder but what he was cross-eyed." "Huh? Why cross-eyed?" queried Norton, frowning, and dropped the plug in his shirt. "'Cause he didn't see me a-watchin' them trees," cackled the old man, and swung up to his saddle. "Now let's git away from here; it makes me plumb scared. What do you reckon ye'll do first off?" "Take advice," smiled Norton easily. "All I can get. I fancy the pirates are in league with some one here, for they've dropped on the best cargoes and let the poor ones pass by. It looks as if they had spies here, sure enough."