"Start on run fast," remarked Tony, pointing down to the ground, as though he had read that fact there in the change of the footprints.
"Then perhaps he did hit something!" exclaimed Phil. "Let's follow and see if there's any sign. It may have been only a hamak fox squirrel he saw, and thought to bag, so he wouldn't have to come in with empty hands."
"No, wild turkey!" declared Tony, holding up a feather his quick eye had detected on the ground.
"Well, however in the wide world d'ye suppose that clumsy chum of mine ever managed to get close enough to such wary game to knock a feather from it?" laughed Phil; "but he must have wounded the bird, for he's gone headlong through the woods here in full chase."
They followed on for some time. Phil began to wonder how Larry ever kept up the pace. Truly the hunter instinct must have been aroused at last in the fat boy to have caused him to thus wildly exert himself. And in the excitement he doubtless forgot all about the directions given him by his chum.
"Why, he's going further and further away from camp all the time!" announced Phil presently.
"Heap game Larry," grinned the swamp boy, who doubtless understood the new spirit that was urging the other on, with his wounded game constantly tantalizing him.
"Hark!" cried Phil, as he held up his hand warningly. "Did you hear that?"
"Help! oh! help!" came faintly from some point away ahead.