To Harry, who was tired out, the walk over the lake appeared endless, but just as the sun was setting they came in sight of the lodge. “Home again!” sang out Joe. “Home again, and glad——Hello!” He stopped short, and looked at the snow before him. There were prints that filled him with wonder. “What is it, Joe?” asked Fred. “Unless I am mistaken these marks were made by the hoofs of a horse!” “They were,” said Joel Runnell, after an examination. “Somebody has been around here on horseback.” “Perhaps we’ve got a visitor,” suggested Harry. “Let’s hurry up and see.” Increasing their speed they soon reached the lodge. The hoof prints were there, and they could plainly see where somebody had leaped from the horse and entered the building. “Hope it wasn’t a thief,” said Joe. The door was fastened just as they had left it, and inside of the lodge nothing appeared to be disturbed. But on the table was a note, pinned down by a fork stuck in the crack of the boards. The note ran as follows: “You ain’t wanted here, and you had better clear out before Hiram Skeetles has the law on you. “Daniel Marcy.” “Well, listen to that!” ejaculated Joe. “What right has Dan Marcy to leave such a message as this?” “Evidently Hiram Skeetles got him to do it,” said Joel Runnell. “Remember, Skeetles claims to own the island.” “But he doesn’t own it,” answered Joe, warmly. “And I, for one, shan’t budge.” “Nor I,” added Harry. “So say we all!” sang out Fred. “Just let Marcy or old Skeetles show himself, and we’ll give him a piece of our mind, eh, fellows?” “Nobody ever tried to stop my hunting here before,” said Joel Runnell. “As I told you before, so far as I know, the island is under the care of Sheriff Clowes. As to who owns the island, that is for the courts to decide.” “Then we’ll quit on notice from the sheriff, and not before,” said Joe. “It’s a wonder Dan Marcy didn’t steal something,” put in Harry. “I don’t think he’d be above doing such a thing.” “Oh, don’t paint him any blacker than he is, Harry,” returned his brother; nevertheless, all looked around the lodge with interest, to make sure that nothing was missing. “I suppose Marcy has gone to old Skeetles to report,” said Joel Runnell, later on, while they were broiling a choice cut of deer meat. “And if that’s so we’ll hear from him again before long.” The hunt had given everybody a good appetite, and they sat over the well-cooked venison a long time, praising the meal and talking over the prospects for more sport. There was a good deal of enthusiasm, and, in the midst of this, Marcy and Hiram Skeetles were for the time being forgotten. It being New Year’s night they did not go to bed as early as usual, but instead sat up eating nuts and listening to several good hunting stories old Runnell had to tell. They also talked of home, until Harry grew just a bit homesick and changed the subject.