“Now go ahead, my fine fellow,” spoke Fenn to the reptile. “Which way do you want to head?”
The turtle seemed undecided about it, for some time after Fenn had placed it on the ground it did not move, but remained with head, legs and tail withdrawn into the protecting shell. But Fenn was patient, and knew better than to poke the reptile to make it move. Presently a long, snake-like neck was thrust out, and black, beady eyes glanced cautiously around, while the parrot jaws were slightly parted, as if to ward off any attack.
Fenn kept behind the turtle, which, in a few minutes, finding that it was not disturbed, stuck out its legs, and began to raise itself up, as if taking an observation. Then it turned partly around, and, to Fenn’s delight, started to crawl in the same direction as that taken by the other two reptiles the previous evening.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Fenn. “That confirms my theory. There’s some place where these turtles hang out, and I’m going to find it. The three we found must have wandered away from the common camping ground of the turtles of this vicinity, but they all head back toward it. Now I’m going to find it.”
He did not wait for the reptile he had captured to lead him to the place. That would have taken too long, but, after quickly scratching his initials on the back of the turtle’s shell, together with the date, so he would know the reptile again, Fenn replaced it on the ground, and started off through the woods in the indicated direction. He had his gun with him, but he did not expect to do any shooting, and he carried a pocket compass, for the woods were unfamiliar to him.
For a long distance Fenn tramped on, plowing through the woods, making turns now and then to avoid streams, partly frozen over, leaping them when he could, fording them at other times, for he had on high, water-proof hunting boots, but keeping as nearly as he could in the proper course.
“Maybe I’ll find a well-protected cave, where the turtles live during winter,” thought the stout lad, as he made his way under some low hemlock trees, well laden with a blanket of snow. “If I do, I can get some new specimens, anyhow, and perhaps enough to sell to that man who wrote me the letter. Mighty queer about him. I wonder who he was? I wonder if, by any possibility, he could be up here in these woods?”
This idea caused Fenn to look around somewhat apprehensively, but there was no one in sight. He did see something, however, that caused his heart to beat faster, and this was a brace of plump partridges on a tree, not far away.
“I wonder if I can shoot straight enough to bag them?” murmured the lad, as he quickly raised his gun, and banged away, first with the left, and then with the right barrel. Somewhat to his surprise when the smoke cleared away, Fenn saw the two birds lying in the snow. He had made a good shot.