"I don't know what you're driving at," said Dick.
"I don't know," confessed Sam, "but I have a kind of a hunch we won't have to go back to the Nipissing." He looked gropingly about, without seeing, in the manner of an old man.
"I hope your hunch is a good one," replied Dick. "Well, mush on!"
The little cavalcade had made barely a dozen steps in advance when Sam, who was leading, came to a dead halt.
"Well, what do you make of that?" he asked.
Across the way lay the trunk of a fallen tree. It had been entirely covered with snow, whose line ran clear and unbroken its entire length except at one point, where it dipped to a shallow notch.
"Well, what do you make of that?" Sam inquired again.
"What?" asked Dick.
Sam pointed to the shallow depression in the snow covering the prostrate tree-trunk.