"Here, you hold him.

I must get the other one, or he'll be off." He was not a minute too soon, for the other dog, who had been ranging about, suddenly found the trail, and with a fierce, short bark, was about to dash off when Don threw himself upon him.

In a few moments both dogs were on the leash, and set off upon the scent at a great pace.

The trail was evidently plain enough to the dogs, for they followed hard, leading the boys deeper and deeper into the bush.
"He's making for the Big Swamp," said Don, and on they went, with eyes and ears on the alert, expecting every moment to hear the snort of a bear, or to meet him on the further side of every bunch of underbrush.
For an hour they went on at a steady trot, over and under fallen logs, splashing through water holes, crashing over dead brushwood, and tearing through the interlacing boughs of the thick underbrush of spruce and balsam.

The black dogs never hesitated.