They had almost reached the river's edge, when the Redman saw the glimmer of a fire through the mist and the trees. Crouching quickly, he pulled Dick and Fritz with him, and pointed in the direction of the blaze. Evidently the fire was but just started and not burning strongly as yet, for it would flare up and die down as a breeze encouraged it or the dampness retarded it.
"How do you know?" asked Dick, searching about him for some sign of life.
The redskin pointed to the faint track of two moccasined feet, both exactly parallel with each other.
"White man no walk like that," said their companion.
"Wonder if they're friends or foes?" whispered Dick to Fritz.
The Dutch boy's teeth chattered with the cold when he started to talk, but the Indian motioned for them to be silent.
"Come," he said, leading the way into some long wet grass. Wriggling carefully along on their stomachs, the three made a detour about the spot where they figured the camp to be. The Indian left them for a few moments and approached nearer to the fire. In a moment he was back again.
"No good Indian," he said, in a low voice. "Not friend of Telca's people. Not friend of white boy."
The Indian held up both hands to indicate that he had counted ten figures in the Indian camp.
"If we can only get one," said Dick, "we'll be fixed for several days to come."
Just then the sound of a volley of musketry came to their ears.
"Mein gootness, what is dot?" said Fritz, excitedly.
"The British," whispered Dick. "It's firing from the valley. The troopers have evidently caught up to our friends."
"Dose oder red-fellers has heard, too," said Fritz.
The three in the grass peered anxiously at the hazy group about the strange camp fire.
"Me go back," said their Indian companion, suddenly. "Tell Telca enemy here. White boy get canoe. Good-bye."
He held out a dark hand to Fritz and Dick, and squeezed each of their hands.
"Tell Telca good-bye," said Dick. "White boys never forget Indian's friendship."
The Indian nodded, and turning, crawled off through the grass toward the shelter of the woods beyond the trail. The firing had grown more brisk from the rear, and although they were so far away, the boys could hear the loud roll of the British firing line, and the occasional barks of the Redskins' rifles.