As Joe continued to look around the vicinity Harry dropped on his hands and knees and examined the damp ground under the tree.
“What do you see?” called out Joe.
“Here are plenty of footprints,” was the slow reply. “But perhaps they are only our own.”
Joe came closer, and some of the footprints were followed out of the tangle in the shade. Then Joe uttered a cry.
“Harry, we didn’t come in this direction, and those marks are neither yours nor mine.”
“You are right. See, they lead along behind these bushes and then directly into the brook.”
“Yes, and they move up the brook, too!”
“It was a two-legged thief who ran away with our game!”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think it was an Indian or a white man?”