the sack, so as I may tell the general how to look for it?"

"Marks!" the man repeated. "Why, it had 'Flints' written on it in big
black letters six inches long. It must turn up, anyhow. They'll find
it when they come to shift the stores."

Then, accompanied by his two companions, Peter strolled quietly
through the little village. Stopping at a small store, he purchased
some flour and tea; then he followed the road inland and was soon out
of sight of the village; he stopped for a moment and then shook his
head.

"It's no use trying to hide our trail here," he said. "The road's an
inch thick in dust, and do what we will they'll be able to see where
we turn off. It's our legs as we have got to trust to for a bit.
We've got a good half hour's start of the canoes; they were a long
three miles behind when we struck the shore."

Leaving the road, he led the way with a long, swinging stride across
the cultivated land. Twenty minutes' walk took them into the forest,
which extended from the shore of the lake many miles inland.

"Take off your boots, Harold," he said as he entered the wood. "Them
heels will leave marks that a redskin could pick up at a run. Now
tread, as near as you can, in the exact spot where the Seneca has
trodden before you. He'll follow in my track, and you may be sure
that I'll choose the hardest bits of ground I can come across. There,
the varmints are on shore!"

As he spoke an angry yell rose from the distant village. At a long,