“Where is that?” asked Fred.
“About half a mile from here.”
“Who is Ike Slosson?” asked Link.
“He is a very peculiar man, who lives by himself up in yonder woods. Some folks say he is very rich, while others have it that he is poor.”
“Do you say he lives all alone?”
“Yes, and has for years. He used to have a son live with him, but the boy died and that kind of made the old man queer in his head. But he isn’t a bad sort by any means. Once, when I was caught in the woods in a blizzard he took me in and treated me well. But he don’t care for company.”
“He would be just the sort of man those tramps would rob,” put in Joe.
The tracks of the feet in the snow were plainly to be seen, and as they continued on their way Joel Runnell became more and more convinced that the three tramps had gone to Ike Slosson’s house.
“When we come in sight of the house, I want you to halt,” said the old hunter. “For all we know it may not be safe to show ourselves.”
On and on they went. In spots the way was very rough, and they had to help each other over the rocks. At one point they could see where the tramps had halted for a meal, and here in the snow lay an empty liquor flask.