Solomon sat there by the fire keeping watch with all his senses on the alert. No danger was there of this faithful old sentinel sleeping at his post. The very possibility of danger to the boys was enough to keep all his mind wakeful and attentive. After a time he moved back a little, and rested his back against a tree. The hours of the night passed on slowly and tediously. The boys slept soundly, and were lost in the land of dreams. Occasionally Solomon amused himself and beguiled the time by going forth and collecting sticks for the fire. The flames smouldered low, and the sticks that Solomon was able to gather were not sufficient to kindle them afresh to any great extent, and so the consequence was, that at length it nearly died out. It was profoundly dark; but still Solomon watched, and felt no inclination to sleep. He had promised to awake the boys towards morning, but they slept so soundly that he had not the heart to keep his promise, and so he let them sleep on. At length Bart awoke, and, starting up, he looked all around. It was early morning twilight; the sky was brightening overhead, and the forms of the forest trees were visible around. As he started, Solomon got up, and walked towards him. “Well, Mas’r Bart,” said he, “all right so far. De Injun gone off forebbamo.” “Why didn’t you wake me before?” asked Bart. “De gracious sakes, now, chile!” said Solomon; “dar wasn’t no casium. ’Tain’t mornin yet.” “Well, you lie down now, and go to sleep,” said Bart. “All right,” said Solomon; and going back to the tree where he had been sitting, he curled himself up on the moss at the foot of it, and, drawing his shawl over his head and shoulders, was soon in a sound slumber. And now the morning advanced; slowly the shades of night faded away, until, at length, the day dawned, and a thousand birds awaked the echoes of the forest in all directions, and filled all the air with a flood of melody. Bart looked up at the sky, and noticed that it was overcast. There was also a very peculiar appearance there which excited his attention. There seemed clouds overhead; but the clouds had a sickly, yellowish color, which was unlike anything that he had ever seen. After a short time, Pat and Phil awoke, and Bart drew their attention to this. They, however, thought nothing of it. “It’s only common clouds,” said Phil. “Deed, an it’s a good sign, so it is,” said Pat, in his usual tone of confidence. “The trout bite wondherful whin they see a sky like that over thim. It’s lucky for us we’ve got sich weather.” Bart had his doubts about this, but he kept them to himself, and then the boys began to consider what they had better do. The loss of their Indian guide made a change in their circumstances of a very important nature. As long as they had him with them, they had no care or anxiety, for they knew that he would take them to all the best places in the country. But, now that he had gone, what ought they to do first?