“But anyway, it’s my buck, Thad; you said I got him!” grumbled Step Hen, as he started after his leader.
They had no trouble in following in the direction taken by the stricken deer; even Step Hen, upon having his attention directed to the ground by Thad, could readily discern the trail of blood spots that told how the buck had been badly hurt by the shot back of the shoulder.
And less than three minutes later the two scouts came upon a scene that caused Thad to frown; while Step Hen’s mouth opened with surprise, even as his eyes were unduly dilated in his intense excitement.
CHAPTER X.
BARE-FACED ROBBERY IN THE MAINE WOODS.
Three men were bending over the dead deer, and all of them carried rifles. They were a rough-looking set, all told; and any one would know at a glance that they could not be city sportsmen, up here in the Maine woods on a hunt; but must belong to the native class of guides, loggers, or possibly something worse.
One of them was in truth a giant; and as soon as Thad set eyes on this individual he knew that his worst fears were about to be realized. This could be no other than the big poacher, Old Cale Martin, the man whom the game wardens seemed to dread like poison, and had never yet dared arrest, though his breaking of the laws had become notorious all through that section where he roamed.
Despite his sensation of acute alarm, Thad surveyed the man with more or less interest and curiosity. He had heard so much about his doings that he would have actually felt a certain degree of disappointment had he gone away from Maine and never met Cale Martin.
Then, what Jim Hasty had told him, added to his desire to look upon the face of Little Lina’s awful father.
No doubt Step Hen must also have jumped at some sort of right conclusion with regard to the identity of the three men. The unusual size of the leader was quite enough in itself to tell who they must be.