Then looking carefully to his rifle, he held it ready for an instant shot.
He came to the westward edge of the valley, and found the slope before him gentle but rocky.

He paused there a while in indecision, and, then glancing up again at the bar of light that had grown broader, he murmured, so much had he imbibed the religion and philosophy of the Iroquois: "O Areskoui, direct me which way to go." The reply came, almost like a whisper in his ear: "Try the rocks." It always seemed to him that it was a real whisper, not his own mind prompting him, and he walked boldly among the rocks which stretched for a long distance along the slopes.

Then, or for the time, at least, he felt sure that a powerful hand was directing him.

He saw tracks in the soft soil between the strong uplifts and he believed that they were fresh.

Hollows were numerous there, and game of a certain kind would seek them in bitter weather.
His heart began to pound hard, too heavily, in fact, for his weakened frame, and he was compelled to stop and steady himself.