Among the branches, about twenty feet from the ground, was a small platform, built of poles, and on this platform was something covered with a blanket. To scramble up the inclined trunk, raise the blanket, and see what was under it was scarcely two minutes’ work. The blanket was one of his own, and the objects it concealed and protected from the weather were the skins he and Lish had captured. At the sight of them Tom uttered a low whistle; and, after looking all around to make sure that his partner was nowhere in sight, he backed down the trunk and set out for camp at a rapid walk, being careful, as before, to step squarely into the wolfer’s tracks. Arriving at the lean-to, he replenished the fire; and, picking up one of the grouse, began plucking it, working as fast as he could in order to make up for lost time. He knew that Lish would be sure to take him to task for something the moment he returned, and if he did not find a cup of hot coffee waiting for him, supplemented by as good a supper as Tom’s limited means would allow him to prepare, something disagreeable might happen. “What object could Lish have had in view when he stole those skins out of the camp and hid them in that tree?” Tom asked himself over and over again. “I can’t think of any unless he intends to clear out and leave me to shift for myself. If he should do that, what in the world would become of me?” While Tom was turning this alarming thought over in his mind he heard somebody coming toward the camp at a rapid pace, stamping furiously through the crust as if to give emphasis to some words he was muttering to himself, but which Tom could not catch. The next moment the wolfer came round the side of the lean-to. In one hand he carried his rifle and in the other a stout switch, which he was brandishing wildly over his head. His face was fairly black with fury. “Look a-yere!” he yelled, as he leaned his rifle up in one corner and approached the place where Tom was sitting. “What ye bin a-snoopin’ round out thar in the timber fur to-day? Don’t be long in speakin’ up, kase this hickory is gettin’ heavy, an’ it will have to drop somewhar purty soon!” Tom was surprised, and greatly alarmed besides. He was alarmed by the expression of almost ungovernable fury he saw in the wolfer’s face, and surprised to learn that his movements had been so readily detected, after all the pains he had taken to cover his trail. But there was nothing surprising in that, for if he had carefully examined his trail he would have seen that there were the prints of two boot heels in each one of the tracks that had been made by the wolfer’s moccasined feet. “What ye bin a-pokin’ yer nose into my business fur?” shouted Lish, making the switch whistle as he whirled it around his head. “What made you go out an’ hunt up them skins?” “What made you hide them?” asked Tom, as soon as he could speak. “It looks as though you were trying to rob me of my share. Some of those skins belong to me.”