That there was, or had at least been, one there, needed no further confirmation.

The trapper was in no mood to put up with the loss of his dinner, and he considered it rather a point of honor that he should bring the offending savage to justice.
That it was an Indian he did not doubt, but he never once suspected, what was true, that it was the identical one he had been following, and who had passed his camp-fire.
In a few moments he found a shallow portion of the creek across which he immediately waded and made his way down the bank, to where the Indian had first manifested his presence.

Here the keen eye of Tim at once detected moccasin prints, and he saw that the savage had departed with his prize.
There was no difficulty in following the trail, and the trapper did so, with his long, loping, rapid walk.

It happened to lead straight to the northward, so that he felt it was no loss of time for him to do so.
It was morally certain the savage could be at no great distance; hence the pursuer was cautious in his advance.

The American Indian would rather seek than avoid an encounter, and he was no foe to be despised in a hand-to-hand contest.