“Well, here’s the light. What are you going to do with it?”
“I want to see if there are any of those tracks.”
“They’re here, sure as guns,” Jack cried a moment later as, by the aid of the flash light, he pointed to a row of tracks identical with those they had seen before. They seemed to emerge from the water and led a short distance along the shore, till they disappeared in the woods.
“It’s a cinch that no four-footed native of Maine ever made those tracks,” Jack insisted.
“Guess we’re agreed on that,” Bob assured him.
“Then the big question is, what or who did make them.”
“Suppose you answer it?”
“I will before the summer’s over.”
Kernertok shook his head when he saw the tracks. It was clear that he was thoroughly puzzled.
“Suppose we wait till daylight and then try to track it with Sicum,” Bob suggested. “He ought to be able to follow that trail. How about it Kernertok?”