thers appeared they had partaken of the repast and
were ready to depart. Dave carried the rifle and Roger the shotgun,
while the others were loaded down with several knapsacks of provisions
and some extra wraps and a blanket or two.

"You want to take plenty of things with you," Dunston Porter had
cautioned them. "You may get farther away from home than you anticipate,
and may have to stay out all night."

"That's true, Uncle Dunston," Dave had answered. "And that being so, if
we don't turn up at a reasonable hour, don't worry about us."

"But what will you do if you capture that wild man?" asked Mrs.
Basswood.

"If it's Wilbur Poole, we'll make him a prisoner and bring him with us,"
announced Dave.

"Well, good luck to you!" cried Dunston Porter, as the boys prepared to
leave. "Remember the hunting season opens to-day, so if you get a chance
at any game don't let it slip you."

"Trust us for that, Uncle Dunston!" cried Dave.

With shouts of good-bye, the boys turned away from the bungalows, and a
few minutes later disappeared along the path running beside the brook.

CHAPTER XXIII

SHOOTING A WILDCAT

Less than half an hour later, the boys found themselves at the top of
the cliff where Dave and Phil had seen the encounter between Link
Merwell and the so-called wild man. A brief look around convinced them
that the locality was deserted.

"Now to find the wild man's trail, if he left one," announced Dave, and
the boys scattered in several directions, looking at the ground and the
brushwood with great care.

"If we only had one of those Reservation Indians with us, he might help
us pick up the trail," declared Roger. "As it is, I must confess I'm not
much of a trail-finder."

"Oh, don't give up so soon," returned Dave. "Remember we have the whole
day before us."

Presently Ben and Luke, who had turned southward on the cliff, let out a
shout.

"Here is something of a trail," announced Ben, when the others came
hurrying in that direction, and he pointed to footprints which led
through some soft soil between a number of low bushes. A little further
on they could see where somebody's shoes or boots had carried some of
the mud up on to the rocks beyond.

"That certainly does look like a trail," declared Dave. "Let us follow
it up a bit, and see where it leads to."

This was considered good advice, and soon, led by our hero, the whole
party was moving through the brushwood and over the rocks. Then