“I don’t believe tramps like to ride much in such freezing weather,” came from Link. “More than likely they have found some sort of a hangout around here, and are living off of what they can pick up, by honest or dishonest means.” The matter was discussed for a short while, and it was concluded to follow up the footprints until nightfall if no longer. “We may run across them sooner nor you expect,” said old Runnell. The tracks led directly through the woods and then toward a rise of rocks which was swept almost clear of snow. Beyond the rocks was level ground, and here was a country road, connecting two small villages of that vicinity with Lakeport. “We’re getting into civilization,” said Joe. “This feels almost as if we were going home.” “I don’t want to go home yet,” said Harry. “Nor I,” came in a chorus from the others. The tracks led along the roadway for perhaps half a mile, and then turned still further from the lake. “Well, I declare!” cried Joel Runnell. “Wonder if those chaps went over to Ike Slosson’s house.” “Where is that?” asked Fred. “About half a mile from here.” “Who is Ike Slosson?” asked Link. “He is a very peculiar man, who lives by himself up in yonder woods. Some folks say he is very rich, while others have it that he is poor.” “Do you say he lives all alone?” “Yes, and has for years. He used to have a son live with him, but the boy died and that kind of made the old man queer in his head. But he isn’t a bad sort by any means. Once, when I was caught in the woods in a blizzard he took me in and treated me well. But he don’t care for company.” “He would be just the sort of man those tramps would rob,” put in Joe. The tracks of the feet in the snow were plainly to be seen, and as they continued on their way Joel Runnell became more and more convinced that the three tramps had gone to Ike Slosson’s house. “When we come in sight of the house, I want you to halt,” said the old hunter. “For all we know it may not be safe to show ourselves.” On and on they went. In spots the way was very rough, and they had to help each other over the rocks. At one point they could see where the tramps had halted for a meal, and here in the snow lay an empty liquor flask. “That is evidence to me that the persons are the tramps we are after,” said Joe. “They were all drinking men.” They had now to force their way through some short undergrowth and then cross a small stream, which in the summer time flowed into the lake. The stream was now a solid mass of ice. “The house is just beyond yonder belt of trees,” said Joel Runnell, at last. “You had better stay here while I investigate.” “Let us go a little closer and hide behind the nearest trees,” suggested Joe, and after a few words this was done.