"Wish we could find out who has been playing all these tricks," said Nat, reflectively.
"We're going to—and that pretty soon."
"How shall we do it, Hacky?"
"Leave it to me. Nobody is going to make an easy mark of John Hackett."
During breakfast, the boys continued to discuss the mysterious affair, the majority agreeing that Hackett was right.
"Stuffed wildcats and funny screeches won't prevent me from going on that hunting trip to-day," declared Bob, "and right after breakfast, too."
"When you get back, we may have a little game to show you ourselves," remarked Hackett, dryly.
It had been agreed by the boys that it was better to divide into two parties, as so many tramping together would be apt to scare off game.
In a short time Bob Somers, Sam Randall and Dick Travers had strapped on their snow-shoes and were ready. Each was plentifully supplied with ammunition and had a substantial lunch reposing in the bottom of his game-bag.
They followed the course of the creek, discovered the day before. Its banks were lined with underbrush and overhanging trees, while huge drifts of snow glistened in the early morning light. Finally the creek became so winding that it was abandoned, and the boys began to climb the steep sides of a pine-clad hill.