He pointed to a thin column of smoke that was rising over the tree-tops,
to the left of the wheat-field.

"Listen!" whispered Bruce. "Somebody's chopping wood." The freshening
wind brought the sound of the axe plainly to their ears. A second later
they heard the distant laugh of a child.

"Come on," said the Major, throwing his roll of blankets at the foot of a
tree. "Where there's children there's no danger. Maybe they'll have
hot-cakes for breakfast!"

A moment later found the three of them stealing silently through
the forest.

What they saw as they peered into the clearing brought them up standing.
A man wielded an axe before a cabin. He was tall and strong,
smooth-shaven and clean. No Indian, but a white man. His clothing was of
white-tanned buckskin. The cabin was of logs, but large, with a
comfortable porch and several windows. The panes of the windows seemed
near-glass. It was impossible to tell, from where they stood, whether the
two laughing children who played by the door were white or half-breeds.
The appearance at that door of a neatly-dressed Indian woman seemed to
settle that question.

The three men had gone half-way across the narrow clearing, before the
man, looking up from his work, saw them. Instantly his face blanched.
With a quick step backward, he reached for a rifle that stood by the
door. Then the arm fell limp by his side.