The three boys followed close at his heels, each picking his way, and walking on his tiptoes, as though that would make any difference.

So they entered the edge of the swamp.

Suddenly the man came to a halt and stooping, pointed ahead.

“Looky yonder,” he whispered hoarsely, “that’s somebody stealing out o’ my traps!”

CHAPTER VIII

Where is bluff?

“Where?” gasped Will, making as if anxious to get a snapshot of the thief in the very act.

“Keep quiet!” whispered Frank, giving him a push.

There was some one bending over the edge of the water, for they could catch a glimpse of his back.

“Stay here an’ watch me scare the critter!” said old Jesse, with a frown.

He glided forward, very like an Indian brave creeping up on his enemy.  Whoever the offender might be, he seemed to have no suspicion that danger hung over his head.

Suddenly the trapper jumped forward, and the boys saw him seize his prey.

“Wow! talk about your wildcats springing, that was a corker!”

Jerry led the way forward, though hard put to it to keep ahead of his eager companions, anxious to assist the trapper if he needed help.

“Take that, you pelt thief, and that!  Let me ketch ye at my traps agin an’ I’ll jest waste a bullet on one o’ yer legs.  Kim up here an’ steal my skins, will ye?  Thar’s another fur ye.  Oh, howl all ye want to, I’m larnin’ ye a lesson.”

The hearty kicks with which he punctuated this speech brought forth a whoop of pain from the recipient on each occasion.

“Why, it’s Pet Peters!” exclaimed Frank.

There was a snap.

“Thank you!” cried Will, with a satisfied grin; he had succeeded in taking a snapshot of the struggling couple while their faces were exposed.

“It’ll do as evidence when I want ter send this critter to jail, which I’ll sartin do if he ever comes a foolin’ ’round my traps agin.  I bet that snake Bud Rabig set him up ter it.  Skeered to come hisself, an’ sends a boy.  Now, you git!”

This time the kick was so tremendous that it actually lifted Andy Lasher’s crony clear off his feet, and started him in a mad flight along the edge of the swamp.  As he ran wildly he kept bellowing in pain, and holding both hands back of him.

The temptation was more than Will could stand, and another “click” announced that he had secured a second retreating view of the poacher.

“At this rate I’ll soon have my six rolls done,” he announced, triumphantly.

“What harm did he do?” asked Frank.

The trapper made an investigation.

“Jest ketched him in time.  Ye see he bed got the game outen the steel, an’ was tryin’ to sot the trap again so as I wouldn’t know it.  That proves he was sent up here by that sneakin’ Bud Rabig; fur what would the boy know about fixin’ a trap if he didn’t git guided?”