“We are not far behind heem now, mes amis,” he chuckled. “Boosh! Before long we shall see what we will see.”
Tom was wise enough to make no comments then. Time enough for that when they came up with the man. For the present he allowed old Joe to indulge himself in all sorts of sanguinary threats. Their midday meal was despatched with what haste may be imagined. Then the dogs were urged forward at a still brisker pace than they had followed during the morning. The snowshoes flew creakingly over the hard snow.
The boys found their minds busy with conjectures as they forged forward. What manner of man was this they were overhauling? Was he some ruffian of the wilds who would put up a stiff fight that might necessitate the use of firearms in self-defense, or would he yield to the superior force opposed to him and give up peacefully his ill-gained spoils?
As the day waned and the west began to crimson, Tom decided to speak his mind out to old Joe.
“See here, Joe, what do you mean to do when we catch up with this fellow?”
“Eh? Dat man? Why, make him geev up the skeens, of course.”
“But if he won’t? If he opposes us?”
“In dat case——”
Joe said no more but patted the stock of his old squirrel rifle with a gesture that spoke volumes.
“No, we can’t have any of that sort of thing,” said Tom decisively. “If he won’t give up the skins without making trouble, we shall have to make him prisoner somehow and one of us stand guard over him while the others get some of the authorities.”