He wavered. Then he saw Skookum coming back on
the trail. The dog trotted up to the boy and dropped a glove,
one of Quonab's. Undoubtedly the Indian had lost it; Skookum
had found it on the trail and mechanically brought it to the
nearest of his masters. Without that glove Quonab's hand would
freeze. Rolf rose and sped along the other's trail. Having
taken the step, he found it easy to send a long halloo, then
another and another, till an answer came. In a few minutes Rolf
came up. The Indian was sitting on a log, waiting. The glove was
handed over in silence, and received with a grunt.
After a minute or two, Rolf said "Let's get on," and started on
the dim trail of the robber.
For an hour or two they strode in silence. Then their course
rose as they reached a rocky range. Among its bare, wind-swept
ridges all sign was lost, but the Indian kept on till they were
over and on the other side. A far cast in the thick, windless
woods revealed the trail again, surely the same, for the snowshoe
was two fingers wider on every side, and a hand-breadth longer
than Quonab's; be- sides the right frame had been broken and the
binding of rawhide was faintly seen in the snow mark.
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