"Here's where he set his pack while he built his fire," pointed the boy. "He didn't have much of a pack, just a sleeping bag and a couple of day's grub rolled up in it. Here's where he set his rifle down—it was a high power—little shorter and thinner butt than mine—a thirty-thirty, I guess. He ain't a chechako though, for all he's got bought snowshoes. He tramped out his fire when he went, and he didn't throw away his tea-grounds. Whoever he is, he's got a camp not farther than two days from here, or he'd never be travelling that light in this country."
A few miles farther on Connie again halted and pointed to another trail that converged with the one they were following. They had been travelling upon the ice of a small river and this new trail dipped into the river bed from the north-eastward.
"It's the same fellow!" cried the boy. "This trail was made yesterday. He camped somewhere ahead of us last night and went back where he came from today. Left his own back trail here—thought it was easier to follow on up the river, I guess. Or, maybe he wanted to dodge some bad going. Where he came from isn't so far away, either," continued the boy, "he was travelling light yesterday, too."
They had proceeded but a short distance when 'Merican Joe called a halt. He came forward, and looked intently at Leloo who was the leader of Connie's team. Connie saw the great wolf-dog was sniffing the air uneasily.
"What is it?" he asked of 'Merican Joe.
"Injuns. Big camp. Me—I kin smell de smoke."
Connie sniffed the air, but could smell nothing. "How far?" he asked.
"She straight ahead on de wind—mebbe-so two, t'ree mile."
The banks of the small river they were following became lower as they advanced and finally disappeared altogether as the stream wound its way through a frozen swamp. In the swamp they encountered innumerable trails of snowshoes that crossed each other at every conceivable angle.