"Don't seem to see anything of him yet," he remarked.
"When he comes," resumed the scout master, "I think you'll find it'll be from that direction over there. I see a good place where we can drop down and hide; so come on, fellows."
"Hide?" echoed George; "whatever would we want to be doing that same for, Elmer?"
"Just to see how disappointed Uncle Caleb looks when he gets here, and finds all these signs around, the blood on the snow, the hair of a silver fox in the closed jaws of the trap, and footprints everywhere," the scout master told him.
Toby was heard to laugh.
"I can just imagine how he'll act," he ventured; "but then, we'll let him know who got the pelt before he's had much time to growl."
Elmer held the dead fox up by his bushy tail, and George was seen to look keenly at it as he muttered:
"Fifteen hundred dollars, and for that measly little runt? I don't believe there's a word of truth about the story. Somebody's been stuffing you, Elmer."
There happened to be a pretty good hiding-place close by. It lay just about where Elmer would have picked it out had he been given a chance. Here they proceeded to settle down, and make themselves as comfortable as the conditions allowed.
"Wonder how long we'll have to wait?" Toby remarked, after they had scraped the snow away, and made places where they could stretch their rubber ponchos out and with blankets on top form comfortable seats upon which to rest their tired bodies.