“Have you seen any wolves about here lately, or that white deer that the Indians say is in the forest?”
“Wolves never come so far south as this in summer,” answered Oscar, then added sharply, “Why?”
“Because when I was lost I stopped by a marsh and—I haven't really thought of it very clearly since—but there were footprints in the ground that were much too big to have been made by a fox, I am sure, so I thought they were a wolf's.”
Oscar leaned toward him, his blue eyes suddenly burning with excitement.
“What sort of footprints?” he questioned tersely. “How big? That makes all the difference in the world.”
“Why, I don't know,” stammered Hugh; “just footprints of some big animal. They weren't very plain.”
In wild haste Oscar fumbled in his pockets, pulled out a pencil and, so great was his eagerness, drew his rough outlines on the blank page of his Bible.
