Soon a counter expedition, under Eagle Nose,—a well-known Maumee River warrior,—was sent out, to do battle with the coming white men. The Indians in this detachment numbered about thirty warriors, all young and eager to fight. They advanced over the snow on snowshoes, and as soon as they came up to the trail of Joseph Morris’s expedition went into hiding. “Let us wait until the hated English sleep,” said Eagle Nose. “Then we can kill them all and take their goods and horses back to our lodges with us.” It may be mentioned here that it was Eagle Nose and his men who had, the year before, fallen on an English detachment near Venango and murdered all the soldiers, mutilating some of the bodies most horribly. For this Eagle Nose became afterwards known as the Red Butcher,—an appellation that clung to him to the day of his death. On the afternoon that the Indians came upon the trail of the whites, Sam Barringford set out on a hunt, taking Dave and Henry with him. A halt had been made, to rest up before climbing through a hollow all but filled with snow. The old frontiersman and the two youths took themselves into the woods where the snow was not so deep, and there presently came upon the tracks of some big animal which Barringford declared must be an elk. “Let us get him by all means!” cried Henry, enthusiastically. The others were willing enough, and followed the tracks of the elk a distance of quarter of a mile. Here they came to something of a buffalo trail, and were surprised to behold the prints of many feet and of snowshoes. “Sam, what does this mean?” demanded Dave, quickly. The old frontiersmen did not answer at once, but examined the prints with care. Then he brought his teeth together with a snap—a sure sign that he had made an important discovery. “Injuns!” he said, laconically. “Injuns!” “Indians!” “Aye, lad—twenty or more on ’em, too,—an’ headed up along close to the trail we made this morning.” “They must be following us,” broke in Henry. “It looks like it.” “Do you think they mean to attack us, Sam?” questioned Dave. “They will ef they git the chanct, Dave. It ain’t in human nature fer ’em not to—thet is, if they be enemies.” “They might be friends.” “Wall, I wouldn’t gamble on thet, out here.” “What had we best do?” “You an’ Henry can go back and tell Mr. Morris about it. I’ll go on an’ do a little scout work.” So it was decided, and in a very few minutes Dave and Henry were on their way to the spot where the expedition had encamped. Sam Barringford followed the trail of the Indians, moving along with the secrecy that years of experience had given him. “We must lose no time in getting back to camp,” said Henry, as he and his cousin hurried along. “Every moment may be precious.” “Right you are, Henry. Oh, I hope we escape!” “Captain Ecuyer must have been right—we have been watched.”