"Did you hear what old Reuben Jacks said, Bob?" asked the older boy, meaningly.
"You mean about that Frenchman, Armand Lacroix?" the other lad replied.
"Yes," Sandy went on, eagerly; "they hunted for him high and low, but without success. Reuben believes that he, or one of his men, must have done this out of revenge, because we defied him and took away the buck when he had declared he meant to possess it."
"It may be so," Bob observed, thoughtfully. "I have heard so much about the treachery and trickery of those traders from the north, that I would not think it beyond one of them to try and burn a cabin in the night. That man hates us both, and you particularly, because of the way you held your gun at his head. I shall never forget how his black eyes glittered as he looked at you on leaving. It was as if he wanted to remember you for years to come."
"Listen! some one is calling!" exclaimed Sandy just then.
"It is old Reuben Jacks, and he has made some sort of discovery; or else he would not lift his cracked voice in that shrill way. Come, Sandy, let us run thither, and see what it may be."
The two boys, both of whom were now carrying their guns, even though but partly dressed, made a dash toward the spot where the shouts went up. They overtook several others; and in another minute quite a group had gathered around the figure of the gaunt old woodranger.
"What is it, Reuben; what have you found to give tongue that way?" demanded Anthony Brady, with authority in his heavy voice.
"Look, neighbors!" said the other, pointing down toward his feet.
"Footprints leading away from the cabin!" exclaimed one.