“Doesn’t the same gintleman do lots of things for which we see no raison?”
“Far more than we can understand. Now I have been wondering whether he won’t be offended by our trying to pry into matters which should not concern us.”
“I think it is the other way,” said Alvin; “he is amused by our curiosity, and doesn’t tell us the secret because he enjoys our efforts to discover it for ourselves.”
“And there’s no saying how long his fun will last,” commented Mike, who because of his previous visit to this section took upon himself the part of guide.
They had tramped less than half an hour when Mike halted and looked about him with a puzzled air.
“We oughter to be there,” he remarked, “but it saams we’re somewhere ilse.”
Alvin pointed to where the undergrowth, a short distance in advance, was less abundant than in other places.
“There seems to be a wagon track that has been traveled lately.”
Hurrying over the few paces, they found the supposition correct. There were the ruts made by wagon wheels and the deep impression of horses’ hoofs. The greatest wonder was how any team could drag a vehicle through such an unbroken forest. Trees stood so close together that there seemed hardly room for a wheelbarrow to be shoved between, and yet a heavily laden wagon had plunged ahead, crushing down bushes and even small saplings, with the hubs scraping off the bark from large trunks, but ever moving undeviatingly in the direction of Gosling Lake.
“It’s the trail of the chuck wagon!” exclaimed Chester; “it brings our supplies that are taken across to the bungalow.”