“Guess it was the wind, Stumpy,” observed Bart, as he put an oiled rag down the barrel of his rifle.
“Maybe,” assented the stout lad, as he arose and peered out. He came back, remarking: “I didn’t see anything, but I thought I heard some one prowling around.”
It was not until the next morning that the boys recalled the incident of the night previous. Then Frank, who was walking about the cleared space in front of the tents, to get up an appetite, as he expressed it, uttered a cry of wonder.
“Look here!” he shouted.
“What?” cried Fenn, running up to him.
“A turtle!” went on Frank, picking up one of the reptiles that was slowly crawling along, made sluggish by the cold. “Here’s a mud turtle, and see, some one has been walking around here,” and he pointed to footprints in the snow.
“I was sure I heard some one last night,” declared Fenn, triumphantly.
“That mysterious man again, I’ll wager a cookie!” exclaimed Bart. “But what is the turtle doing here? Is it the same one you had, Stumpy?”
“No, it’s a different kind. Maybe that mysterious man dropped it, and was hunting around for it.”
“Hard to tell,” remarked Frank. “Anyhow, isn’t it rather queer, Stumpy, to see mud turtles out this time of year?”