Here his steel-gray eyes fell on the moccasins which he had not yet put
on, and struck fire instantly. His ambition was doubled. For if there is
one thing more than another which in the forest will stir the pluck of a
novice, and make him feel like an old woodsman, it is the sight of his
Indian footwear. Dol put his on, admired their light, comfortable
feeling, their soft buckskin, and rashly decided that he could dispense
with the loose inner soles which Cyrus had fitted into them to protect
his feet.

Then, being very much of a stranger to American woods, he communed with
himself after this fashion,--

"Cyrus says that different tribes of Indians wear differently made
moccasins, and one redskin, if he sees the tracks of another in soft
mud or snow, can tell what tribe he belongs to by his footmarks. That's
funny! I suppose if any old brave was knocking about and saw my tracks
in a boggy spot, he'd think it was a Kickapoo who had passed that
way--not Dol Farrar of Manchester, England. These are of the shape worn
by the Kickapoo tribe--so Cy says.

"I'm the kid of the camp, I know," he went on, with another flash in his
eyes, as if there was a bit of flint somewhere in his make-up which had
struck their steel. "But I'll be bound I can do as well or better than
the others can. I'm off now to Squaw Pond. I think I can follow the
trail easily enough. Uncle Eb showed me yesterday where he had spotted
some of the trees all the way along to the water. And if I don't shoot a
couple of black ducks for dinner or supper, I'm a duffer, and not fit
for camping."

He took down the powder-horn and slung it round him, saw that there was