"We'll go on about a minute further," suggested Dick, who had
kept his watch in hand from the outset. "Then we'll walk backward,
stop here, grab that limb and swing ourselves over past the bushes.
That ought to throw the fellows off the track and get 'em all
mixed up."

"If the whites are spread enough they'll probably be outside those
bushes," remarked Reade. "Then they'll find where the trail changes."

"That's one of the chances that we have to take," smiled Dick.
"Let's see if we can't make it work."

Onward again they went, halting when Prescott gave the word.
Walking backward, they were soon at the oak with the low-hanging
limb.

"I'll try it first," proposed Dick, "and see if it's easy enough.
Don't walk around here and make enough tracks to call the attention
of the whites to the fact that we stopped here."

Dick made a bound, catching the limb fairly. Three or four times
he swung himself back and forth, until he had gained enough momentum.
Then he let go, on the last swing, landing on his feet well behind
the bushes. Dave came next, Tom following. Now the three Indians
hurried on again, Big Injun Dick in the lead as before.

"If we do throw them off, Greg's fighting men will have a hard
job hitting the trail again," chuckled Tom.