“Well, maybe I am wrong about that part of it,” admitted Tom, “but at least the man didn’t cross the bear’s trail. Something turned him back when he saw the marks of the paws in the snow.”
That seemed reasonable enough.
“Well, let’s follow the dog,” suggested Bert. “He’s after the bear, anyhow.”
This was so, for the dog had not even paused at the prints of the man’s feet in the snow. He evidently preferred Bruin for game.
But now it was getting so dark that it was difficult for the boys to see, even with the whiteness caused by the covering of snow on the ground.
“I say,” Tom spoke, when they had gone on a little farther. “I think we’d better turn back. It will be night before we realize it, and we’re a long way from either camp. It’s a question in my mind whether we hadn’t better start back for Camp No. 2, and let three wait for a day or so. It’s going to snow too, soon, if I’m any judge.”
“Why, we’re probably as near to No. 3 as we are to No. 2,” observed Jack. “Why not keep on? We haven’t been to Camp No. 3 yet, and I want to see what it’s like.”
“Well, we’ll leave it to a vote,” decided Tom, who never tried to “run” things where his chums were concerned. “One place is as good as another to me, but we’ve got to do something—and that pretty soon.”
“We’d better give up the bear, at least for to-night,” spoke Bert, and there was regret in his voice. “But we can take up the trail to-morrow.”
“Whistle back the dog,” suggested George. “And then we’ll decide what to do.”