They were soon on the trail again, and hurrying along as fast as the roughness of the country would permit. Up one hill and down another they went, around great rocks and across numerous tiny streams, until at last they struck the end of the valley in which they had shot the deer the day previous.
“I must confess I am tired,” remarked Andy, with an effort. “We must have covered a good many miles since we started.”
“We have,” returned Jack. “But I—hold on, what is that ahead?”
As he uttered the last words, Jack motioned the others to stop. At the same time he pointed to where a rough lean-to rested against a wall of rocks all of twenty feet high.
“That’s some kind of a ranch,” returned Harry. “And, my gracious! there is our sled standing outside!” he burst out. “Boys, we have found those fellows at last!”
“Bettah be cahful,” warned Pickles. “Da may be mighty tough customahs to deal wid!”
“See that your guns are ready,” ordered Jack, sternly. “We’ll lay down the law to them, no matter who they are.”
Every member of the Zero Club at once complied. Boxy was a trifle nervous, but he did his best to hide it. Jack and Harry, as the natural leaders of the crowd, went to the front.
Before the lean-to ran a small mountain stream, now frozen solid. Between that and the shelter smoldered a fire, and around this were scattered a large quantity of chicken feathers and the heads of two of the barnyard fowls.
“They have evidently been having a chicken dinner,” murmured Harry. “Wonder why they didn’t go out and shoot some game?”