It was getting late, so the young hunters made haste back to their cabin. They had supper, and then once more sat about the fire and talked through the long Winter evening. The next day they dressed their game and cooked it, finding it a welcome relief from the canned meats and bacon on which they had been living.
The rest of that week they remained in the vicinity of Cabin No. 1, having fair luck, but getting no big game. They saw one deer, but missed him. In this time they saw no more of Skeel or his cronies.
“What do you say we go over to Camp No. 2 for a change?” asked Tom, one night.
“We’re with you,” his chums agreed, and they made an early start, through the woods, locking up the place they left behind, for they might not be back for several days. They managed to bag several rabbits and squirrels on their march, but saw no signs of deer. Sam had told them they might not have much luck in this direction.
In due time, by following a copy of the blue print map they had made, they came to Camp No. 2. There had been a light fall of snow in the night, and as Tom approached the cabin, he cried out:
“Boys, they’ve been here ahead of us!” He pointed to footprints in the white blanket—footprints, one of which had a star in the middle of the sole.
[CHAPTER XI]
MORE PLOTTING
Impetuous George Abbot was about to rush forward when Tom, stretching out a hand, held him back.