He had been right.
The Woongas had taken off one of Minnetaki's moccasins and were using it to make a false trail into the northwest.

Those formless tracks ahead of him meant that one of the Indian maiden's feet was wrapped with a bit of cloth or fur to protect it from the cold.
Rod soon perceived that the flight of the outlaw and his captive was now much more rapid, and he quickened his own pace.

The chasm grew wilder.

At times it appeared impassable, but always the trail of the fugitives led straight to some hidden cleft through which the boy followed, holding his breath in tense expectancy of what might happen at any instant.
Suddenly Rod stopped.

From ahead of him he was sure that he had heard a sound.