“He left plenty of those visiting cards around here,” Dan said.
Rising he led the way to the cookshack and showed them the claw marks in the butter tub, and then to the garbage heap where the soft ground was covered with tracks like those made by a barefoot man.
“No mistaking those,” Greenleaf exclaimed excitedly. “By George, let’s catch him tonight.”
“What are you going to do with him when you catch him?” Dan asked. “You can’t kill him, you know.”
“We’ll cage him and take him down to camp. Where are the shovels, Dan?”
Dan produced the shovels and sat down to watch the performance. Greenleaf was all enthusiasm.
“Come on, Scotty,” he cried. “We’ll dig a hole right here beside the garbage heap. This seems to be where he comes most.”
The boys worked so energetically that the hole grew apace. They worked in ten-minute shifts and made the dirt fly. It was almost pure sand with just enough clay to make the sides stand up, the easiest kind of digging. The men soon caught the spirit of the thing and volunteered to take their turns at the shovels. In an hour the pit was completed, five by five and six feet deep, with perpendicular sides.
“There,” Greenleaf said, clambering out on the end of a shovel Dan extended to him, “if Mr. Bruin tumbles into that he’s our meat.”
“Yes,” Dan laughed, “he’ll be our meat, but the next thing will be to cure the meat.”