[Illustration: The three-fingered hand-print]
Yan followed the track on the road a little way, but at the corner it
turned southward and was lost in the grass.
As he was going back to camp he overtook Caleb also returning.
"Mr. Clark," he said. "I went back to sketch those tracks, and do you
know--that man had only three fingers on his right hand?"
"Consarn me!" said Caleb. "Are you sure?"
"Come and see for yourself."
Yes! It surely was true, and Caleb on the road back said, "Yan, don't
say a word of this to the others just now."
The old Trapper went to the Pogue house at once. He found the tracks
repeated in the dust near the door, but they certainly were not made
by Dick. On a line was a pair of muddy trousers drying.
From this night Yan went up and Guy went down in the old man's
opinion, for he spoke his own mind that day when he gave first place
to grit. He invited Yan to come to his shanty to see a pair of
snow-shoes he was making. The invitation was vague and general, so the
whole Tribe accepted. Yan had not been there since his first visit.
The first part of their call was as before. In answer to their knock
there was a loud baying from the Hound, then a voice ordering him
back.
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