it was around where he is cutting and didn't ask any
questions for fear of letting the coon out of the hole about where we
were going. Then when I was alone with the doctor we both forgot all
about Jim, there were so many other things to talk about. It may be that
he saw that silver gray somewhere along this trail. We'll keep our eyes
peeled for signs."

"How do you know that Big Jim made these tracks?" asked Walter, who had
been studying them closely, hoping to find out for himself the clue
which made Pat so sure of his man, but unable to see anything
distinctive save that they were of odd shape, being nearly round.

"By a combination of two things--the shape of the tracks and the length
of the stride," replied Pat. "Jim always uses bear's-paw shoes, and I
don't believe there are more than half a dozen other pairs in this neck
of woods. Then look at the length of the stride. It's a good three
inches longer than mine, and there's nothing dainty about mine. There
isn't a man in the woods who could take that stride and hold it but Jim
Everly. So I'm as sure it was Big Jim as I am that if we don't get a
hustle on we'll have to camp in the snow, and it'll be a lot more
comfortable at the pond. We've got another long hike to-morrow, and we
want to be in shape to do it."

For some miles the going was fairly level, and once they had got into
the swing of the thing the boys found it comparatively easy. There were
two or three mishaps, but these were counted part of the sport. About
two miles from their destination they came to a spur of a mountain over
which the trail led. In fact, it was the very spur on the other side of
which Spud Ely had overrun the trail and got lost the fall previous. Pat
called a halt.

"It's going to be no small job to get this load up there," said he. "We
can go around the spur, but to do that will add a good three miles, and
in the valley it will be dark before we can reach camp. What do you
think? Are you game to try the hill?"

"The hill! The hill! Follow me, comrades, up yonder heights, and drive
the enemy from their guns!" shouted Hal, striking a heroic attitude and
pretending to flourish an imaginary sword.

"Where lives the Scout, by difficulties pressed,
Who will admit a chicken heart possessed?
Who will not rather bravely face the wust
And do and dare and conquer or go bust!"

"Bravo!" cried Walter.

"When dares our comrade coin and use a word like wust
We'l