“It moved up the creek and then back.”
“Do you want to go along and show us the way?”
Boxy hesitated, but to refuse would look too much like cowardice, and, somewhat against his will, he finally consented to accompany them. Andy said he would go, too, and, not to be left behind alone, Pickles joined the party, but on the lookout to run for life at the first sight of a ghost.
Not a minute was lost by Harry and Jack, and once started, they set off on a run, Boxy between them. They were soon across the creek and hunting around the heavy brush and thicket of trees.
But though they searched for the best part of half an hour, they discovered comparatively little. There were a few large tracks in the snow, but these were dragged so none could tell what sort of a walking object had made them.
“Well, we might as well give up,” said Andy, at last. “I am mighty cold, rousing up out of a warm sleep.”
They searched around a little while longer, and then one after another returned to the camp. Pickles replenished the fire, and signified his intention to sit up for the balance of the night. It was then a little after three o’clock.
“I wonder what it could have been?” queried Harry, as he threw himself on his resting-place once more. “Boxy certainly saw something.”
“Perhaps time will solve the mystery,” responded Jack, sleepily, and he was right. The near future solved it in a most unexpected manner.
Boxy could not sleep at all after the excitement through which he had passed, and at five o’clock he left the hut to join Pickles by the side of the fire. He found the colored youth dozing away over the oven that had been built, and in great danger of having his woolly locks singed by the flickering flames.