A few more steps, and then Dan spoke again.
“Hey! what does this mean?” he grumbled.
“Didn’t the trap work after all, Dan?” asked Peg, in a grieved tone.
“Work!” snorted Dan, huskily. “I should say it did. Only the maniac was too much for me after all. He’s gone and busted my trap to flinders.”
Groans of disappointment welled up from numerous throats, and there was a quickening of footsteps as all drew closer to the spot where the wreck of the clumsy contrivance lay scattered around.
They stood and stared at the ruin. Dan shook his head, and drew in his breath with a faint whistle that expressed intense astonishment.
“Say, he must have been a buster of a man!” he finally exclaimed, bending down to examine some stout limbs that had been actually broken in two as though by a mighty force. “He just got as mad as hops when it dropped around him, and smashed things right and left. But, fellows, he carried off the bait all right, I notice.”
“That shows he has an appetite after all,” remarked Mr. Holwell, considerably amused at the happening, though at the same time feeling that the situation bordered on a grave one, with such a terrible denizen of the woods visiting their camp so frequently.
“After this he’ll be feeling kind of peeved at us for hurting him, I guess,” ventured Peg.
“Well, if it comes to the worst,” Phil remarked, “we can some of us sit up each night, and stand our turn on guard.”