After that the winter days passed slowly. Sam Barringford remained at the Morris home, occasionally going out alone or with some of the others in quest of game. He was always glad to have Dave and Henry with him, and they were likewise delighted to go, for, as my old readers will remember, Sam Barringford was a famous hunter and rarely came back empty-handed.
One day Henry, who had been out after wild turkeys, came back in a state of mild excitement. He had seen hoofprints which were strange to him, and he wanted Barringford's opinion on them.
"They looked something like a deer's," he said, "but were larger."
"Must have been an elk," answered the old frontiersman. "But I allow as how thar ain't many of them critters around this deestrict."
Henry had come back in the evening, so that the tracks he had discovered were not inspected by Sam Barringford until the following morning. The pair went out accompanied by Dave, and all were armed, and supplied with provisions enough to last two days, if necessary.
The way led up a small hill back of the house and then through a patch of scrub timber—the best having been cut away when the new cabin was built. Beyond the scrub timber was a small cliff of rocks and further still a dense forest, leading to the stream upon which the Morris boys had had such thrilling adventures in the past.
"Here are the tracks," said Henry, when the edge of the forest was gained.
"And see, here is another trail made last night, I'll be bound!"
Barringford took his time at examining the hoof-prints in the snow, and at a spot where the sun came down warmly and made the ground slightly soft.
"Reckon I was right," he said. "Ef it ain't an elk, it ain't nuthin I ever seed afore."
"If it is an elk, let us try to bring him down by all means!" cried Henry.
"I'd like a pair of elk horns very much."