Nat, The Trapper and Indian-Fighter

He turned his horse toward a small clump of trees about half a mile distant, and rode rapidly forward. As he neared the grove, his former appearance of carelessness gave place to one of intense watchfulness. His keen gray eyes roved restlessly along the edge of the timber; his movements were slow and wary—every motion being instinct with a caution that long habit had made second nature. When at the edge of the grove, he stopped to listen, rising once more in his stirrups to look about him.