“But we’d always have to just guess at it, because we could never know for sure,” X-Ray went on to say, in a dubious tone that told of disappointment.
“Perhaps not,” Phil remarked; “come over with me, and let’s take a look; for I’ve got a notion we can settle that thing in our minds, even if nothing might ever be done to punish the sneaks who did the job.”
He picked up a burning brand from the fire that promised to serve fairly well as a torch; and with this swinging from his hand led the others to the back of the scorched shack.
“Close by we’ve all trodden things into a mass,” he explained; “but let’s look further away. Here’s a place where it happens we find only a couple of inches of snow, and you can see footprints plainly marked. Look again, and tell me if any of us made those tracks coming and going?”
“They carried the brush along here, too, Phil, because you can see little twigs lying on the surface of the snow!” announced Ethan.
“But examine the footprints, because they will tell the story,” said Phil.
“Why, they are not like our tracks at all,” said X-Ray, immediately.
“None of them show any sign of heels, Phil!” exclaimed Ethan; “does that mean they can be moccasins made of tough hide, and not hunting-boots like ours?”
“Now you’re getting close to the heart of it,” the leader assured him; “for most of the guides up here in this region wear such foot coverings, as the Indians did before them. I believe there were two men concerned in this outrage, and that they were paid by Mr. James Bodman to come over here and burn us out.”
“The coward!” muttered Lub, indignantly, as his pent-up feelings broke bounds; “why, they might have smothered us while we slept.”