The meal went merrily on, and then came a delightful evening spent in the flickering blaze of the log fire, talking over the events of the day. Bert had developed his picture of the deer, and found that it would make a good print. Tom was dreaming of the time when he would get back the mounted head to hang on the wall of his den at home, as a memento of the trip. Tom was destined to have other memories of the trip than his deer-head trophy, but he did not know that yet. A rather heavy fall of snow the next day prevented the boys from going far from the cabin, for they did not want to take any chances on being lost in the storm. There was no need to go out for food, as they had plenty, and in the afternoon Sam came over with a generous supply of deer meat, so their larder was well supplied. “When are we going to take in Camp No. 3?” asked Jack of Tom, when Sam had gone back home in his pung sled. “Well, we can go over there whenever you fellows want to. I don’t believe, from what Sam says, that it’s quite as good hunting ground as this, and I thought maybe you’d want to stay here until you each got a deer’s head.” “Yes, I guess that would be best,” agreed Bert. “This seems to be the most promising location. And there may be bears around. I heard some animal prowling about the cabin last night.” “So did I,” confessed George. “Maybe it was Skeel and his crowd,” he added. “Hardly,” scoffed Tom. “More like it was a fox looking to pick up something to eat that we had thrown out. But we’ll stay around here for a few days longer, and then make a hike for No. 3. We might as well take ’em all in while we’re here. No telling when we’ll get another chance.” Had the boys known what was in store for them, they would have started for No. 3 Camp at once. But they did not know, and the delay gave the enemies of Tom Fairfield a chance to plan their trick. For the next day, at some distance from No. 2 Cabin, there might have been seen three men, going along the snow-covered forest trail, in a manner that could only be described as “slinking.” A glance would have disclosed their identities--Skeel, Whalen and Murker. “Think they’ll soon be on the move?” asked Professor Skeel. “If they don’t take the trail, all our work will be wasted.” “Well, we’ve got to take _some_ chances,” growled Murker. “If this dodge doesn’t fool ’em, I’ll have to try another. But I think it will. Once we get ’em confused, and off the road, we can separate ’em by some means or other, and deal with Fairfield alone. You leave it to me.” “Very well,” assented Professor Skeel. A little farther walk through the woods brought the three conspirators to a cross-road. It was not much traveled in Winter, but in Summer formed a popular highway. The main road led back to the village, where the boys had left the railroad train, and the cross highway connected two towns--Ramsen and Fayetville.