plentiful along the creeks—some animal had probably crossed here. Besides, there was "Soapy" White's trading post a few miles below, and several outfits of prospectors. The boy was much surprised at Ick Par's evident concern. Forward and back, he walked, along the water line, leaning far over and examining minutely each foot of gravel. Finally he turned to Connie:
"Injun cross here," he reported.
"Well, what if he did?" asked the boy.
"Mooch Injun! Two—t'ree sun 'go, she camp on de woods. Come." He turned and, following the sign in the gravel, led the way into the thicket of scrub timber that fringed the bar. A few moments later they came upon the abandoned camp—the dead ashes of a dozen small fires over which the passing Indians had cooked a hurried meal. Figuring four or five Indians to the fire, Connie realized that a considerable party had been on the move.
"What do you make of it, Ick?" he asked. "What are they up to—hunting—fishing?"
The scout shook his head and busied himself with a minute inspection of the ground.
"Dem Mooseheads," he announced, holding in
