A soft whistle into the back door of the rocky home told Joe that the hunter was waiting.
"Coast clear ?" whispered the lad, thrusting his head out of the entrance.

His gray eyes gleamed brightly, showing his eager spirit.
The hunter nodded, and, throwing his rifle in the hollow of his arm, proceeded down the hill.

Joe followed closely, endeavoring, as Wetzel had trained him, to make each step precisely in the hunter's footprints.

The lad had soon learned to step nimbly and softly as a cat.

When half way down the bill Wetzel paused.
"See anythin' ?" he whispered.
Joe glanced on all sides.