“No, these are Skeel tracks, I should say. Those fellows must be just ahead of us, for the marks seem quite fresh.”
Tom pointed to some impressions in the snow. Among them were footprints showing that same star mark in hob nails.
“I wonder why they’re trailing and following us?” remarked Bert. “It can’t be just for fun.”
“Maybe they don’t know where to look for game, and are depending on us,” suggested George.
“That might be so,” agreed Tom. “But I wish they’d show their hands, and not keep us guessing all the while. It’s getting on my nerves.”
“Well, we’ll keep a lookout for ’em now,” suggested Bert, “and if we see ’em, we’ll give ’em a bit of our minds.”
“Yes, and I’m going to ask Sam Wilson to tell ’em to go,” added Tom. “They haven’t any right here. They may be scaring all the game away, and besides, it’s risky. They may get in the way of our guns, or we come too close to theirs, though I haven’t seen them with either a rifle or a shotgun yet.”
“No they don’t seem to be hunting, but if they aren’t, what in the world are they up here for?” asked Bert.
“That’s what gets me,” remarked Jack. “Well, come on. Time’s too valuable to waste in chinning.”
Once more they took up the trail. The footsteps of the three men, on their mysterious errand, crossed the path of our friends at an angle, and they did not think it wise to follow the marks of the hob nails.