Mrs. Coon didn't smile. Perhaps she was too worried for that.
"It may not be the same monster," she said. "It may not be a monster at all."
But by this time Fatty was sure he was right. He was sure he knew more than his mother.
"Why can't we go right over to Farmer Green's and take some of his chickens?" he asked. "The monster has probably eaten him by this time, and all his family, too."
But Mrs. Coon would do no such thing.
"Show me the tracks," she said firmly. And so they went on into the woods.
"There they are!" Fatty cried, a few minutes later. "See, Mother! They're even bigger than I said." He heard a funny noise behind him, then. And when Fatty Coon looked around he saw that his mother was actually holding her sides, she was laughing so hard.
"Those are Farmer Green's tracks," she said, as soon as she could stop laughing long enough to speak.
"What—as big as that?" Fatty pointed at the huge prints in the snow.
"Snowshoes!" Mrs. Coon said. "He was wearing snowshoes—great frames made of thongs and sticks, to keep him from sinking into the snow."