"Wan sight, mebbe."

Jean had learned that these Indians measured short distances according
to sight, and that they said "one sight," "two sights," "three sights,"
instead of miles. She now knew that the A-jem-sek, whatever that river
might be, was not far away, and that it must be a branch of the St.
John. And between the two, farther on, were the King's mast-cutters.
Her hopes rose high. How good it would be to see white men she could
trust. They would help her to reach home, she felt certain.

They were moving down a gentle slope now, and making fair progress.
Suddenly Sam stopped, and examined strange straggling tracks in the
snow. Kitty and Jean also looked, the latter asking what they meant.

"White man," Sam explained. "No snow-shoe."

"Are they slashers?" Jean anxiously enquired.

Sam shook his head, and examined the tracks more closely.

"No slasher, no snow-shoe," he said. "Funny track, all sam' lost."

As they proceeded, they came across other tracks, showing where men had
been walking through the snow, wandering here and there, in an
apparently aimless manner. Sam became very curious now, as well as
cautious. He took the musket from Kitty, and carried it in readiness
for any emergency. Jean was quite excited, and peered keenly ahead,
not knowing what to expect next.