SlowlyitdawneduponWetzelthatthechiefcouldhardlyhaveanyreasonfortakingthiscirclingcoursesavethatofprideandsavagejoyinmisleading,infoolingthefoeoftheDelawares,indeliberatelyshowingDeathwindthattherewasoneIndianwhocouldlaughatandloosehimintheforests。ToWetzelthiswasbitterasgall。Tobeledawildgoosechase！Hisfierceheartboiledwithfury。Hisdark,keeneyessoughtthegrassandmosswithterribleearnestness。Yetinspiteoftheangerthatincreasedtothewhiteheatofpassion,hebecameawareofsomestrangesensationcreepinguponhim。HerememberedthattheDelawareshadofferedhislife。Slowly,likeashadow,Wetzelpassedupanddowntheridges,throughthebrownandyellowaislesoftheforest,overthebabblingbrooks,outuponthegolden—fleckedfields——alwayscloseonthetrail。
Atlastinanopenpartoftheforest,whereafirehadoncesweptawaythebrushandsmallertimber,WetzelcameuponthespotwheretheDelaware\'strailended。
Thereinthesoft,blackgroundwasamoccasin—print。Theforestwasnotdense;therewasplentyoflight;nologs,stonesortreeswerenear,andyetoverallthatgladenofurtherevidenceoftheIndian\'strailwasvisible。
Itfadedthereasthegreatchiefhadboasteditwould。
Wetzelsearchedtheburntground;hecrawledonhishandsandknees;againandagainhewentoverthesurroundings。Thefactthatonemoccasin—printpointedwestandtheothereast,showedthattheDelawarehadturnedinhistracks,wasthemostbafflingthingthathadevercrossedthehunterinallhiswildwanderings。