"I say, fellows," broke in Dick Travers, suddenly, "there was something mighty suspicious about those fellows across the lake calling us over this morning."
"What do you mean?" asked the poet laureate, quickly.
"It looks as though they wanted to have an eye on us. Queer, too, that Robson should have been alone."
Dave Brandon seemed somewhat startled, and reflected for a moment. "I can't believe those chaps would do anything of that sort," he said, with a decided shake of his head. "Story Robson told seemed straight to me. Nice fellows, I think."
"Best ter say nothin' more about it," observed the trapper. "Guess I done wrong ter 'rouse yer s'picions."
Nat Wingate leaned back and stuffed his hands in his pocket. "Did Robson act as if he had a headache, Chub?" he inquired.
"He didn't look very spry, that's certain."
"An' I guess it was true 'nough 'bout them wolves," put in Yardsley, and he contracted his brow until two deep lines appeared.
"My idea, too," added Dave.
"Oh, you are easy, Chub," said Nat, rather scornfully. "For my part, I think those chaps took the furs, and we're going to find out before very long."