The wind had piled up great drifts of snow, and occasionally the heavy sleds had to be dragged around a fallen tree.
From a dense thicket came the harsh, rasping cry of the blue jay, while a noisy flock of crows flitted among the trees.
In places, the snow was covered with the tracks of animals and birds.
"There have been dozens of rabbits around here," asserted Bob. "And look—sure as I live—the trail of a fox."
"A fox?" echoed the others. "How do you know?"
"Because the footprints are almost in a straight line, and you can see the marks of the claws in front."
"My eye! I only wish I could get a shot at him," burst out Hackett, looking eagerly around, as if he expected to see a dozen foxes running to cover.
"Thought nothing would satisfy you but a wildcat or deer, Hacky," laughed Nat.
"A fox will do for a starter. After that, Tommy Clifton must help me rout out a big, black bear from his cave," grinned John.
"Oh, I say, fellows," broke in Dick Travers, "somebody take this sled; I'm fagged out."