“But they’ll find some footprints before long,” said Joe, in speaking of this. “And when they do they may be after us hot-footed.”
Fortunately for the boys the brook, as they remembered, made a long semicircle, so that if they could make their way through the forest in anything of a straight line they would cut off a goodly portion of the distance to camp.
The gun of each was loaded and freshly primed, and each held his weapon ready for instant use should occasion require. Joe led the way, but Harry followed closely in his footsteps.
Less than a hundred yards had been covered when there came a shot from a distance, followed by several others.
“Where can they come from?” questioned Joe.
“I don’t believe we are in sound of the camp, Joe. But if we are, perhaps those other shots came from there, too.”
“No, they were off in that direction.” Joe pointed with his hand. “I can tell you what, I don’t like the looks of the situation, do you?”
“No, I don’t—and that is why I think we had best get back to camp with all speed.”
On and on they went, deeper and deeper into the forest. The summer day was drawing to a close and they knew that in another hour the darkness of night would be upon them.
Suddenly a small wild animal darted up in their path. This caused Joe to fall back upon Harry, and by accident the latter’s gun was discharged, the buckshot whistling past Joe’s left ear and tearing through the boughs overhead.