if nobody don't cross its track and get catched,
den de--de _Ting_ mebby get crazy mad, and nobody don' know what it's
goin' for do. Kill every person, mebby."

Tom mused over this information. These men had all been in Madore's
shanty; Madore was under Red Dick Humphreys; Red Dick was Rory
Carmichael's head foreman; he had sworn to stop the survey by hook or
by crook, and this vow had been made after Tom had hired his gang from
among those scared away from Madore's shanty. Tom thought he began to
understand the situation.

"Just wait a bit, boys," he said, and started.

"You ain't surely go'n' to cross de track?" cried Baptiste.

"Not now, anyway," said Tom. "But wait till I see it."

When he reached the mysterious track it surprised him so greatly that
he easily forgave Baptiste's fears.

If a giant having ill-shaped feet as long as Tom's snow-shoes had
passed by in moccasins, the main features of the indentations might
have been produced. But the marks were no deeper in the snow than if
the huge moccasins had been worn by an ordinary man. They were about
five and a half feet apart from centres, a stride that no human legs
could take at a walking pace.

Moreover, there were on the snow none of the dragging marks of
striding; the gigantic feet had apparently been lifted straight up
clear of the snow, and put straight down.

Strangest of all, at the front of each print were five narrow holes
which suggested that the mysterious creature had travelled with bare,
claw-like toes. An irregular drip or squirt of blood went along the
middle of the indentations! Nevertheless, the whole thing seemed of
human devising.

This track, Tom reflected, was consistent with the Indian superstition
that Windegos are monsters who take on or relinquish the human form,
and vary their size at pleasure. He perceived that he must bring the
maker of those tracks promptly to book, or suffer his men to desert
the survey, and cost him his whole winter's work, besides making him a
laughingstock in the settlements.

The young fellow made his decision instantly. After feeling for his
match-box and sheath-knife, he took his hatchet from his sash, and
called to the men.

"Go into camp and wait for me!"

Then he set off alongside of the mysterious track at his best pace. It
came out of a tangle of alders to the west, and went into such another
tangle about a quarter of a mile to the east. Tom went east. The men
watched him with horror.