“That big sled, sort of two bobs made into one, with only a single set of runners,” explained Tom, indicating the sled to which were hitched four horses, whose every movement jingled a chime of musical bells.
“Be you the Fairfield crowd?” asked the man.
“That’s us,” Tom said. “Are you Sam Wilson?”
“Yes.”
“Then, we are discovered, as the Indians said to Columbus,” Jack murmured, in a low voice.
“Pile in,” invited Sam Wilson, indicating the pung. “I’ll get your traps. Ain’t this fine weather, though?”
“It’s a bit cold,” Bert remarked.
“That’s what a party said that I drove over to your camp the other day,” spoke Sam. “He was from down Jersey way, too. You fellers must be sort of cold-blooded down thar! This chap complained of the cold. But pshaw! This is mild to what we have sometimes. Yes, this feller I drove over kept rubbin’ his ears all the while. One ear was terrible red, and it wasn’t all from the cold either. It had some sort of a scar on it, like it had been chawed by some wild critter. It sure was a funny ear!”
Tom looked at his chums with startled gaze. This was disquieting news indeed.