But from the time they struck the old trail he was close at the Indian's heels.

When they reached the hill that sheltered the dip his face was scratched and bleeding from contact with swinging bushes; his heart seemed ready to burst from its tremendous exertion; his breath came in an audible hissing, rattling sound, and he could not speak.

But up the hill he plunged behind Mukoki, his rifle cocked and ready.

At the top they paused.
The camp was a smoldering mass of ruins.

Not a sign of life was about it.