“The wild dogs!” Ed gasped, inspecting the breach of his rifle.
“Wonder if they’re coming this way?” said George, uneasily.
For some seconds the lads sat listening to the music of the outlaws, and they were thankful when it finally grew faint and died away.
“Maybe they’re after our fox,” laughed George, as they started along the trail.
“More likely some poor deer,” replied Ed, again consulting the compass, when the tracks veered sharply in the direction of the fierce baying.
“Wonder if that fool fox has gone over there and stirred up trouble?” grumbled Ed.
“Well, if he has, we’re in for another experience, and a real one, I’ll bet,” declared George.
Presently the trail brought them to a stretch of rocky ground from which most of the snow had melted. Tracking became more difficult, and they finally lost the trail. They seated themselves on a boulder and spoke in uncomplimentary terms of the animal that had enticed them all that distance, to leave them baffled on a desolate rock-strewn hillside.
“There’s only one thing to do,” said Ed, as he placed the compass on a flat rock.
“What?” demanded George.