“I rather think so. Shall we reply?”
Once again they heard the welcome sound, and, raising his rifle, Ed fired two shots in response. The boys stood listening as the reports thundered through the swamp. Then they got an answer, and uttered a delighted cheer at the prospect of early rescue.
The lads turned eagerly and hurried toward the distant signals. They continued to shoot in reply to the guiding shots. When they had gone some distance in the new direction they began to recall certain trees and marks which they had made note of the day before.
“We’re on the right track now,” George called out, cheerily, as he recognized the fallen tree-trunk where he had killed the grouse.
The shots ahead became more distinct, until they sounded loudly close before them. George, who was leading, suddenly drew back in alarm and hastily brought up his gun.
“Look out!” he warned, when a big, rangy hound came bounding toward him. “Here they are—the pack!”
Then he lowered his weapon and laughed loudly, for he recognized the “wild dog” as old Moze.
“Well, Moze, you old rascal, you certainly gave me a scare. Where on earth did you come from?” he inquired.
“You fellows are a fine lot!” sang out Bill, the veteran trapper, a moment later.
“Helloa, Bill!” cried the boys, rushing forward to grasp their friend by the hand.