Parker stepped to the door through which he had seen the frightened Dutch boy disappear.
“By ginger, I believe you are right, Sam!” he declared. “He doesn’t seem to be in here.”
Sam darted to the rear of the tent, and Parker pushed in, followed by Merriwell, who knew that Hans was hiding.
“Where are you, Hans?” he asked, in peremptory tones.
Thereupon followed a movement of some blankets, and Hans thrust out his head like that of a turtle emerging from its shell.
He gave a squawk and drew the blanket over his head again when he saw the gun Parker carried.
“Oxcoose me! I ton’d peen to home this efening,” he chattered.
Merriwell drew away the concealing blanket, under which Hans tried to hide and to which he clung to the last moment.
There was a broad grin on Parker’s face. Hans’ terror greatly amused him, but at the same time it aided in convincing him that the party was guilty of the unlawful death of the moose.