Their excellent success kept them in good spirits and contented at their work for the most part, though sometimes, when drifting snows clogged the traps, and days were spent in clearing them, the trails grew tedious, and then it was quite natural that they should long for the return of summer, and for home.
Nothing occurred to vary the monotonous routine of the days until late one December afternoon. The previous night had been one of wind and drifting snow. The fox traps lay deeply covered by drifts, and since early morning they had been clearing and resetting them. The long northern twilight was at hand, and, plodding silently along toward the Namaycush Lake tilt, still three miles away, they were thinking of the hot supper and warm fire, and hours of rest that should presently be theirs, when suddenly David stopped and listened intently.
“What is it?” asked Andy.
“’Tis something following us,” answered David after a moment’s silence.
“I hears nothing,” said Andy.
“But ’tis there!” insisted David. “I feels un!”
A little longer they listened, and then passed on.
“There is somethin’!” exclaimed Andy presently, in an awed voice. “I feels un too.”
Closer and closer the something seemed to come, stealing after them stealthily through the shadows of the forest. With the instinct of those born and bred to the solitudes, they felt the presence, and were certain it was there, though they could neither hear nor see it.
Again and again they paused expectantly to listen, and at length their keen ears caught a light, stealthy tread.