“The one partly sliced off. I laid it in this box, but it’s gone now.”
“Is that so?” asked Tom, and there was a curious note in his voice. “That’s queer. I remember seeing it there when we started off. We’ll have a look.”
“Oh, take another piece, and don’t delay the meal,” suggested Dick with a laugh.
“It isn’t that,” said Tom. “If things begin to disappear from camp we want to know about it, and find out who is taking them.”
Together with Bert he examined the place where the bacon had been put. This was in a box, fastened about four feet above the ground, in a tree. It was a sort of cupboard, thus raised, in which to keep stuff that was not protected by tins, so that prowling rats, squirrels or chipmunks could not get in. There was a door to it, fastened with a wire.
“Was the door opened when you went to get the bacon?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” answered Bert, “and I’m sure it was closed when we went away.”
Tom stooped down, and began examining the soft ground at the foot of the tree. As he did so he uttered an exclamation.
“What is it?” asked Bert, eagerly.
“There’s been some animal here,” declared Tom. “A fox maybe. I can see the footprints, but I’m not enough of a naturalist to tell what made ’em.”