Swiftly the snow-shoes glided over the white surface of the slope, Yardsley leading the way, and soon they were within easy call.
A chorus of cheers floated over the air, and before the echoes had ceased lusty shouts came from the others.
"Ah, but it's good ter see 'em again," cried Yardsley. "An' they don't look none the wuss fur it, neither."
"Hurrah for the bounding brotherhood of deer catchers," yelled Nat, and above the din which followed was heard Billy Musgrove's loud laugh.
"Hello, fellows!"
"Hello, Nat, old man!"
Enthusiastic greetings, hand-shaking and exclamations followed. Questions, sharp, quick and to the point, were hurled back and forth. All spoke at once, and no one managed to get a clear idea of anything until Yardsley waved his hand for silence.
"Softly, youngsters," he exclaimed; "give 'em time."
"It strikes me you're right," agreed Sam Randall. "Quit that racket, fellows. What's that, Bob—wolves? Say—"
"Wolves!" echoed Hackett. "Did we have a fight?—Well!" the slim boy drew a long breath.