"You're on!" cried Sandy.
The boys were ready for the trip in a very few moments. It was not necessary now to provide against mosquitoes and "bull-dogs," for the sudden cold spell had effectually silenced them for the winter.
"Now don't you fellows come home unless you bring about twenty pounds of trout," George directed as the two lads opened the door and disappeared from sight.
The boys had proceeded but a short distance when Sandy called his companion's attention to a peculiar foot-print in the snow.
"I guess we must be approaching the corner of State and Madison again!" he laughed. "We come out into the woods to commune with nature, and find some new party butting in every time we turn around."
"That's an Indian's foot-print!" declared Thede.
"How do you know that?" demanded Sandy. "You haven't seen any Indian, have you? How can you tell an Indian's foot-print from any one else's? That may be a white man's step, for all we know!"
"Nay, nay, me son!" laughed Thede. "I know by the shape of the moccasin and by the way the fellow walks."
"You know a whole lot of things!" laughed Sandy. "If you keep on accumulating knowledge, you'll beat Tommy out of his job as the Sherlock Holmes of the party!"
"Well, if you don't believe he's an Indian, you'd better go and ask him!" Thede argued. "He's right over there in the thicket!"