The imprint of a moccasined foot in the sand! There was no doubt of it this time.

A human foot had made it--one, two, three, four, five times--in crossing that patch of sand! He stood with the pipe in his mouth, staring down, apparently without power to move or breathe.

It was a small footprint.
Like a boy's.

He noticed, then, with slowly shifting eyes, that Baree was bristling and growling over another track.

A bear track, huge, deeply impressed in the sand.