He picked it up, held it to his nose a moment, and then, when the offensive odor assailed him again, he cast it away.
Another dozen steps forward, and he sank down in a clump of grass, blending perfectly with the green, and absolutely motionless.

Thirty yards away two Shawnee warriors in all the savage glory of their war paint, naked save for breechcloths, were passing, examining the woods with careful eye.

Yet they did not see Henry Ware, and, when they turned and went back, he followed noiselessly after them, his figure still hidden in the green wood.
The two Shawnees, walking lightly, went on up the valley which broadened out as they advanced, but which was still thickly clothed in forest and undergrowth.

Skilled as they were in the forest, they probably never dreamed of the enemy who hung on their trail with a skill surpassing their own.
Henry followed them for a full two miles, and then he saw them join a group of Indians under the trees, whom he knew by their dress and bearing to be chiefs.

They were tall, middle-aged, and they wore blankets of green or dark blue, probably bought at the British outposts.
Behind them, almost hidden in the forest, Henry saw many other dark faces, eager, intense, waiting to be let loose on the foe, whom they regarded as already in the trap.
Henry waited, while the two scouts whom he had followed so well, delivered to the chief their message.