“Wait a minute,” suggested Bart, who had finished dressing. “I’ll take a look.”
He went carefully out to the cook tent, and made several observations. Then he stooped down and carefully brushed off the light layer of snow that had fallen during the night. When the undercrust was exposed he uttered an exclamation.
“There’s the tracks of the thief who stole the meat pie, Stumpy,” he said, pointing to some marks in the snow.
“Who was it?” asked Ned.
“A fox,” answered Bart. “He sneaked into the tent after we had gone to bed, and took the pie off the top of the box where Fenn had set it. Then he carried it off, and the snow obligingly came and covered up his tracks. I guess if we look far enough we can find the basin that held the pie, where the fox dropped it.”
They made a circle about the camp, and soon Fenn uttered a cry of triumph.
“Here’s the pan!” he called. “It’s empty. No meat pie for breakfast this morning,” he added regretfully.
“I wish we could shoot that fox!” exclaimed Ned vindictively. “As it is you’ll have to give us pancakes, Fenn.”
There was no help for it. The pie dish had been licked clean, though how the fox had managed to carry it from the tent was something of a mystery. However, Fenn soon stirred up a mess of cakes from self-raising flour, and a hot breakfast was partaken of, while hunting plans for that day were discussed.