“Don’t you worry about them,” laughed the guide.
As the storm increased steadily in volume and the afternoon wore on, the boys went to the door many times to listen. They remembered what their own experience had been in a storm not half so bad; and, though they had implicit confidence in the ability of Bill and Pete to take care of themselves, they were anxious for them to return.
Hardly had they resumed their seats the last time when the door opened and Pete came into the room. He was covered with snow, and began shaking himself vigorously.
“See anything special?” inquired Ben.
“Plenty dog tracks. Run moose all time in big snow—bad!” said the Indian, shaking his head.
“That’s the pack of wild ones, I’ll bet!” declared Ben, straightening up with a show of interest.
Pete nodded in the affirmative.
“Well, we’ve got to go after them, or there won’t be any game left in this part of the country,” and the guide scowled.
Again Pete nodded solemnly.
It was almost dark, and still Bill and Moze did not make their appearance. Several times the boys caught Ben listening and glancing out of the window, they thought, a bit uneasily.