“Yes, but not at us,” rejoined Tom excitedly, springing forward once more, “it’s the black fox he is after. We’ve got to head him off in that little game.”
CHAPTER IV—THE TRACKS IN THE SNOW.
As they ran across the bridge of planks connecting the Yukon Rover with the shore, the boys saw something else. Standing by the cages in such a position that they had not seen it before was a dog-sled.
Even as they were still on the gangway the form of a man glided through the darkness toward the sled. In his arms he held a bundle of some sort.
“Stop where you are!” cried Tom, guessing with a catch at the heart what it was the man was carrying.
There was no reply. The man had reached the sled and bent swiftly over it an instant.
Crack!
Jack gave a jump. The man was not shooting. It was the sharp crack of his dog-whip, sounding like the report of a pistol on the frozen air, that had startled the boy.
The dogs started forward. The sled creaked on the hard, packed snow. It began to glide off through the night like a phantom.
“Stop or we’ll fire!” shouted Jack excitedly.