"But just now, after the 'silver thaw' we've had, the snow is beautifully hard, and if those beggars went the opposite way, the way we'd go if we were making back towards the Fennicks, they'd move."
"Fly," came crisply from the hunter. "It aer a trifle downhill, and since this keen frost set in, the snow aer hard and smooth. Yes, they'd fly. But don't you reckon on that; Hurley'll work them half-breeds up to attack again. They'll wait perhaps till morning, or till it's darker. It'll be that any time now, and I ain't so certain that we ain't in for a little snow. It won't be much, anyway, for there's only a few clouds about; but the wind's got up a little, and clouds have come into sight that wasn't there when we came to the island."
"Ah!" Joe gave vent to the short expression in such a tone of voice that Hank stared at him. It was just as if he had said "Thanks awfully; you've just given me the information I wanted."
"What's that?" demanded the hunter.
"Nothing," answered Joe briskly.
"You ain't goin' to flummox me! You was thinkin' something jest then; you're up to some game and ain't let on yet."
The little fellow was gifted with wonderful intelligence, and picked up Joe's unspoken thoughts with the same intuition with which he would have ferreted out the tracks of an enemy, or guessed at their possible movements. He shook Joe angrily, staring into his face.
"What aer it?" he demanded. "This ain't the time for playing games. But I guess you've something at the back of that head of yours. Now, I've caught you out—-what's the move?"
Joe told him in a very few words; for he had of a sudden come to the determination to move against the enemy.
"I'm going to do a little bit of scouting, Hank," he said. "I'm going across to their camp to see what's happening. What I want to know is this: will those dogs they have set up a racket and fly at me?"