“Something wrong here,” he said. “The trail is no longer double.”
The boys tramped up and down the valley, poking behind every rock and into every clump of bushes and trees. Gradually they became widely separated.
Suddenly a loud shout from Hamp drew his companions to him. His search had proved successful.
Behind a fringe of bushes, at the very base of the left-hand mountain, the faint ruts again appeared on the snow-crust.
“Now for a stern chase,” said Jerry. “Have your guns ready, and don’t make any noise. This way.”
The boys started briskly up the mountain side. Before they had taken many steps they were agreeably surprised to find a broad and easy path that followed a zig-zag course toward the summit.
The boys traveled faster. They were almost at the top of the mountain now. Straight ahead the trail wound narrowly between two steep walls of rock and timber.
Crack! the angry spit of a rifle echoed among the rocks. The ball whistled close over the heads of the lads. They instantly dropped down among the bushes, fearing another shot.
“Let’s all fire at once,” whispered Hamp.
“No, hold on,” cautioned Jerry. “The rascal is safe behind the rocks.”