“Keep your eyes open, is what I say,” answered Lawson, who was striding along in advance. “An Injun ain’t going to announce his coming with bells and a horn.” For the first few miles of the journey but little was spoken, the frontiersmen being of a silent turn of mind and Dave and Henry being busy with their thoughts. They were following the old Braddock road, thinking they might make better progress on this through the heavy snows than on the General Forbes route. “I am afraid, if we push ourselves too much the first day, we’ll be rather stiff the second,” remarked Henry, as they stopped for a minute on a rise of ground to get their breath. “Oh, I want to make as many miles as I possibly can,” answered Dave impatiently. “I agree with Henry,” said Devine. “We’ll have to take it a bit easier. We’ll gain by it in the end, mark my words.” That night they encamped in a snug spot among the rocks. Plenty of firewood was handy, and they built up a roaring blaze. On the way Henry had seen a bunch of rabbits and had not resisted the temptation to take a shot. He had secured three, and these were cooked to a turn and eaten, after which they turned in without delay, each taking his turn at standing guard and keeping up the fire. The next day was largely a repetition of the first, and the third day was on the same order, although Lawson saw a deer and shot at it, breaking its leg. Dave gave the game a finishing bullet, and they took the meat to their next camping spot. There the deer was cut up, and each was given a good-sized piece to carry along. “That ought to last us several days,” said Lawson. “So we won’t have to waste time or powder on more stuff for the larder.” The next day, about noon, came an alarm. Turning a bend of the trail they came in sight of fully a score of Indians, all on snowshoes and journeying in the direction of Fort Pitt. “Out of sight!” warned Lawson, and leaped behind some bushes, followed by his companions. “I think they saw us first,” said Henry. “And if so, it will do us small good to hide.” He had hardly spoken when a shrill whistle filled the air, followed by a cry that was well known to Dave and Henry. At once both boys ran out into the road. “White Buffalo!” cried Dave, and moved onward to greet the aged chief. “Where goes my young friend?” questioned White Buffalo. “I am going home,” answered Dave, and then told of what had happened at the trading post. White Buffalo was much concerned. “’Tis sad news indeed,” said he. “And comes at a time when White Buffalo’s heart was filled with gladness.” “What has happened to make you glad?” asked Henry. “My tribe is at peace once more. Henceforth all of our warriors will be friendly to the English. And they have made me the chief of all my people.” “I am glad of that, for your sake!” cried Dave. “And you deserve this, White Buffalo, for you are the very best Indian I know.”