“Oh, you are, eh? Well, nothing like being sure,” chuckled the old guide and hunter. “So far, though, you’ve done as well as the men who come up here, so I wouldn’t wonder but what you’d beat ’em. How have you been? Anything happened?”
They told of their experiences in camp, and Tom mentioned Skeel and his cronies.
“Trespassing on these preserves, eh?” exclaimed Sam. “Well, I’ll have to look into that. These lands are posted, and only those who get permission can enter on them, and hunt or fish. I’ll just put a flea in the ears of those fellows, if they don’t look out!”
With the help of the boys, Sam carried the deer out to his waiting pung. He said he had happened to pass near No. 2 Camp, and decided to run in on the chance that the boys might be there.
The deer’s legs were tied together, and then a long pole, cut from the woods, was thrust between them, lengthwise. On the shoulders of the boys and the guide the carcass was taken out to the big sled.
“I’ll bring the meat over to-morrow,” promised Sam, “and the head will be mounted later. It takes a little time.”
“Keep plenty of the venison yourself,” Tom urged.
“Well, just as you say,” was the laughing acceptance. “I haven’t had much chance to do any hunting yet. I’m glad you had a good start of luck.”
“And I hope my picture of the other deer comes out all right,” murmured Bert, his interest, just then, centering in his camera.