As they came to the landing, the guides ran down eager to hear the news.
"We found his trail," said Mr. Waterman. "Get the guns ready, Pierre and Jack, and we'll go after the son-of-a-gun to-morrow."
"Did you see him?" asked Jack.
"No," said Mr. Waterman. "We just picked up his trail. I think I know where he is, but you had better put together enough grub to last us a week, for we don't know where he may be."
"All right," replied Jack. "We'll be ready."
Bob had to tell his various experiences to the boys, who listened with bated breath. On their part they had little to relate. They had gone out to the trails agreed on but could find no trace whatever of any stranger. They had arrived only a short time before Bob had shown up.
"Ye gods, but I'm hungry," sighed Pud.
"You haven't anything on me," said Bob. "That Mr. Waterman is some 'moose.' He tears along like a steam engine and never seems to get tired."
"I noticed that the other day," said Pud. "He had me puffing and blowing going up that mountain and he was breathing like a sleeping child."
Just then, tang! tang! tang! tang! went the stick against the wash pan in Jack's hands and the boys made a rush for the table. They did more than justice to the great bill of fare prepared for them by Jack. Trout after trout, hot from the pan, disappeared like magic, not to speak of the hot biscuits and the apricots for dessert.