“It isn’t he, though!” corrected Hodge, almost instantly. “The chap is a stranger. Yes; and there are others with him.”
All the members of the party now came out in front of the tents and looked at the men emerging from the woods.
The men were armed, and came straight toward the camp. As they drew near they glanced with meaning smiles of satisfaction at the antlered head of the elk.
Merriwell did not fancy their appearance nor the way in which they stared at him and his friends.
As he looked at them, like a sudden blow came the intuitive knowledge that these men were game wardens. There could have been no more damaging evidence against a camping party than the head of a freshly slain moose found in the camp at that time of year.
“I could wish that moose head was in the lake,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s going to put us in a bad hole, if these chaps are game wardens.”
Still he maintained the utmost outward composure.
The largest of the men stepped forward, dropped a hand menacingly on his gun, and sternly announced:
“You are under arrest!”
Hans Dunnerwust gave a shriek of fright and dived into the nearest tent.