"Have we gained on him?" asked Max, presently.
"Considerable," replied the trapper.
"How d'ye know that?" demanded Steve,
"There are plenty of signs to tell me," came the answer. "Anyone used to following a trail would have seen them. And I reckon, now, Max hasn't been blind all this while."
"No," replied the one spoken of. "I saw water still oozing into a deep track when we passed that boggy ground, and right then and there I concluded we must be less than half an hour behind the thief."
"Good!" ejaculated the trapper; "anything else. Max?"
"Why, yes," returned the boy, calmly. "There was a little twig that righted itself even as I looked at it. His foot had bent it down. Now, I shouldn't think it could have stayed that way more'n half an hour at best."
"I saw it, too," added the trapper; "and it pleases me more than I can say to find that you keep your eyes about you, son. It ought to be a lesson to Steve here. Queer, how one person can see so much and another nothing."
"Well," ventured Steve, "I have noticed one thing, anyhow."
"Glad to hear it, son. Tell us what it is, now."