"Yes," nodded Phil, reflectively regarding the ground. "Some one has been hurt or wounded, that is sure," and he started forward, guided by occasional drops of blood in the snow. These soon ceased entirely. The boys returned to the spot from which their hunting traps had disappeared. Phil took the situation seriously, trying to surmise what had occurred. Andy was entirely nonplussed, but his comrade moved restlessly about, studying the ground. Soon Phil made a new discovery. "Some one with a cane or round-ended stick has been around here, Andy," he announced. "What makes you think so, Phil?" "See those round marks in the snow? Ah, they're a sure trail. They lead that way. Come on, this is worth following up." "Why, Phil," said Andy, his eyes suddenly brightening. "I guess who made those marks. They're no tracks." "What are they then?" "Old Silas Berks' wooden leg. See, just a stride length apart, even and regular. Yes, Silas has been here. What makes it sure, is that the marks lead right over the hill in the direction of his house." "Do you mean the queer old fellow who came up to the barn to see us drill?" inquired Phil. "Exactly, the old soldier who was in the French and Indian War. That's where he lost his leg, you know." "Why, he wouldn't be so unfriendly as to steal our guns." "Certainly not, but I believe he knows all about their disappearance. We'll go right to his cabin and inquire, anyway." After crossing two rises in the landscape the boys came to the river, and in sight of a hut near its banks. The rude log cabin was a novelty. Cord wood piled quite high like a stockade surrounded the immediate plot of ground upon which the structure stood. There was an open space like a gateway, and the boys entered the little enclosure. Andy hammered at the door of the cabin. "Hurrah for liberty--zip! biff! boom!" shrieked a strident voice. Phil was startled and astonished. Before he could question Andy, however, a chorus of cackling, clucking, and an immense flutter as of birds, mingled inside of the hut with the strange shout that had greeted them at their arrival. "Silas don't seem to be at home," decided Andy, as the door did not open. "Someone is in there," said Phil. "No, that welcome was Silas' parrot. He is the greatest man you ever met for having pets. He has some homing pigeons that are famous. Wonder where he can be?" "There's someone," said Phil, and just then a plodding but wiry figure appeared through the gateway. "Present arms!" cried old Silas Berks, giving a military salute to the boys. "Glad to see you. Just been looking for you." "I say, Mr. Berks," interrupted Andy eagerly, "have you seen anything of our guns?" "Certainly I have, lad," replied the veteran, with a pleased grin. "I have them. That's why I was searching for you." "How did you come to get them?"