"And it came from up that way." Jack indicated the direction which Bob had taken.
"Geet gun, we go queek."
Throwing some wood on the fire so that it would last until they should return they quickly tied on their snow-shoes and, taking their rifles, were off at the fastest pace they could muster.
"You think the wolves are after him?" Jack asked as they hurried along.
"Mebby. But heem climb tree."
"But he'd have shot and we didn't hear any shots."
"Wind, heem wrong."
They had gone but a short distance when Jack's quick eye caught sight of something lying nearly concealed in the snow. Stooping he picked up Bob's automatic.
"It's Bob's," he gasped holding it out so that the Indian could see it.
"Oui, heem Bob's."