As the sun’s rays fell across the peaks of the mountains, the boys sat and ate their meal, chatting and laughing as carefree as boys could be.
“For a bunch of fellows who are lost in these mountains, we’re taking things mighty easy,” laughed Lanky.
“Yes,” rejoined Frank, “when we know we’re not really lost. We know we can go back the way we came. But we don’t know that we can go where we wish to go.”
Around the old hut they went, peeping in to see what was inside, then made their way the short distance up to the peak where the trail divided.
“There’s smoke!” called Buster, as he reached the top first and looked out over the hills.
“Well, let’s start for the smoke,” said Lanky.
“According to my guess we ought to follow that trail on the left side, then,” said Frank. “The trouble is we don’t know whether it’s a trail, but it surely does look as if one led down that way,” he continued, pointing in the direction he intended.
Away they started, optimistic because of the bright, sunny day, and also because they had plenty of rest and were much refreshed.
“Look at that!” called Paul Bird before they had gone more than half the distance down the declivity to the valley below, pointing off to their right.
There, in plain view, with a little red spot marking its last resting place, lay a medium-sized timber wolf.