“So was I,” admitted Jerry. “They must be having a long, hard chase. Still, they can’t be much farther ahead.”
“Let’s walk faster,” urged Hamp. “It’s going to snow soon.”
They turned to the right, barely glancing at the ledge of rocks and the brawling stream. They left the clearing and plunged into the scrub and timber in the direction of the lake.
They were moving too rapidly to notice that the imprint of but one pair of snowshoes was ahead of them. As they neared the lake, they struck a pitch of rising ground.
The boys dropped into single file. Hamp preceded, and Jerry followed with both sleds.
“I can see a bit of the lake through the trees,” said Hamp. “It’s not more than half a mile away. We ought to overtake the party between here and the shore.”
Just then he struck a slippery pitch of rock and snow, and began to feel his way very cautiously. Six feet below was a fringe of bushes that shut off further view.
Meanwhile Jerry had fallen a little behind. He suddenly observed how slim and indistinct was the trail. He paused at once, and the sleds backed up against his ankles.
He bent over and keenly scrutinized the impressions on the snow.
“Hold on, Hamp,” he cried. “Something wrong here. I see the marks of your snowshoes and of another pair. By cracky! we’ve blundered. There’s been only one man ahead of us.”