"I can follow you again.
Set the pace!" There came the click of the safety on Mukoki's rifle, and Rod, following suit, cocked his own.
"Much quiet," whispered the Indian when they had come to the farther side of the dip.

"No noise--come up still--shoot!" The snow-shoe trail of the outlaws turned from the dip into the timbered bottoms to the north, and Mukoki, partly crouched, his rifle always to the front, followed swiftly.

They had not progressed a hundred yards into the plain when the old hunter stopped, a puzzled look in his face.
He pointed to one of the snow-shoe trails which was much deeper than the others.
"Heem carry Wabi," he spoke softly.

"But--" His eyes gleamed in sudden excitement.

"They go slow! They no hurry! Walk very slow! Take much time!" Rod now observed for the first time that the individual tracks made by the outlaws were much shorter than their own, showing that instead of being in haste they were traveling quite slowly.