For answer, Alec got up and went to a corner of the cabin and brought forth an old fruit jar. Pat grinned. "Here's some," said Alec simply as he unscrewed the cover while the boys crowded around. They took one whiff and then fairly tumbled over each other to get away.
"Cover it up! Take it away!" howled Hal, holding his nose. "I won't be able to eat a square meal for a week."
"Me too!" yelped Sparrer. "Dey has some awful smells in New York, but dis is de limit."
"Jumping crickets! I should think that stuff would drive things away and not attract 'em!" exclaimed Upton. "What is it, anyhow?"
"Skunk fat and mice cut up and put in the jar and hung in the sun until thoroughly rotted, and then some skunk and muskrat scent added. Sorry you don't like it," replied Pat. "A drop or two judiciously used seems to be a great attraction for foxes and some other critters. Alec has got another brand if you would like to sample it—fish oil made by cutting up fish and letting them rot in the same way. It's a mighty good scent."
"No, thanks!" cried Hal hastily. "We'll take your word for it. What about those stretching boards?"
"I'm coming to that," replied Alec. "Raw furs are handled in two ways, 'cased' and 'open.' Mink, marten, fox, fisher, weasel, muskrat, skunk and bob cat are 'cased.' That is what these boards are for. We skin 'em by cutting loose around the feet and then cutting down the back of the hindlegs to and around the vent and then skin the hindlegs carefully, and also the tail. Then the skin is turned back and stripped off the body wrong side out to the ears, taking as little fat as possible. The ears are cut off close to the head, and the skin is cut loose around the eyes and nose. The easiest way is to hang the critter up by the hindlegs after skinning out these and the tail.
"These small boards Pat and I are making are for muskrats in the spring. For marten, mink, otter, fisher and such like we use longer, narrower boards; that is, they are narrower in proportion to their length. I'll show you some presently. The best boards are those with a narrow strip ripped out of the middle for the whole length. This makes a wedge or tongue. Of course it should be tapered. This makes it possible to use the board for various size animals and to stretch the skin to its fullest extent. It also makes it easy to remove a skin from the board, as taking out the wedge at once loosens the whole board.
"The skins are put on the stretchers fur side in. Then with a blunt knife they are fleshed. That is, they are scraped clean of every particle of fat and flesh. Then they are stretched to their fullest extent and put to dry or cure in a cool, airy place. As soon as dry enough to prevent shrinking or wrinkling they are taken from the boards. Lynx and fox are then turned fur side out, but the others are left as they are.
"Beaver, coon, bear, wolf and badger are skinned 'open.' That means that a cut is made from the point of the jaw straight down the belly to the vent. A cut is made down the inside of the forelegs across the breast to the point of the brisket and another down the back of the hindlegs. Big animals like bars, wolves and wolverines should be skinned out to the ends of their toes and have the feet left on. These skins are stretched flat, a coon nearly square, a beaver round, and others to their natural shape. The best way is by lacing them with twine in a frame. Many trappers lose money by careless handling of the furs. All dirt, blood and lumps should be carefully removed. Lots of skins, prime when caught, grade way down because of careless handling. Now I guess you chaps have got your fill of furs. What about to-morrow? It's Christmas, ye ken."
"That's so, and it will be the queerest Christmas I ever have spent," said Hal thoughtfully. "We ought to celebrate, somehow. What's the program, Pat?"
"How about a rabbit hunt in the morning, a big dinner and a shooting-match in the afternoon?" replied Pat.
"Bully!" cried all three together.
"What's the matter with a Christmas tree in the evening?" added Upton. "We ought to do something Christmasy."
"I was going to suggest that very thing," retorted Hal. "We'll make it the greatest Christmas this old Hollow ever saw. Now, let's turn in. I want to be out for those rabbits right early. By the way, Alec, I hope there's some of that venison left for the big feast."
"Dinna ye worry, laddie. I hae saved a roast special," replied Alec as he prepared things for the night.
"Merry Christmas!"
At the sound of Pat's roar the three guests hastily tumbled out of their bunks with answering greetings. A cheerful fire blazed up the chimney and added its flickering light to that of a couple of candles, for the sun was not yet up. Alec was cutting bacon and Pat was mixing flapjack batter.
"Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes, and the one who isn't ready goes hungry," he announced.
"It won't be yours truly," declared Hal, reaching for his clothes.
"My tummy, oh, my tummy!It gives me such a pain!I wonder will it ever——
"My tummy, oh, my tummy!It gives me such a pain!I wonder will it ever——
"Say, who swiped one of my socks? I can't find but one, and I left 'em together." He began to toss things left and right in search of the missing article.
Meanwhile Upton was down on his knees fumbling under his bunk. At Hal's complaint he looked up suspiciously. "I can't find one of mine," he sputtered. "Somebody's been putting up a job on us. Hi! What the——" He finished by pointing toward the fireplace.
Hal looked. There hung his missing sock. Also one of Upton's and one of Sparrer's, all three misshapen and bulging.
"Ut would not be Christmas an' we did not hang the childer's stockings," announced Pat gravely.
With a whoop the three boys fell on the stockings. Entering into the spirit of the occasion they seated themselves on the floor in front of the fire and pulled out the contents as gleefully as ever they had emptied Christmas stockings at home in their younger days. The gifts were trifling in themselves, but the better for that very fact. There were little packages of spruce-gum, a carved paper-knife, a tiny birch-bark canoe, whistles made from buck's horn, a rabbit's foot charm, and other knickknacks of the woods. Pat's voice broke into the midst of the babel produced by the discovery of the socks and their contents. "Five minutes for those who want breakfast," he announced.
Instantly there was a mad scramble to finish dressing and when time was up it was evident that no one proposed to go hungry that Christmas morning. During the meal it was decided that Alec should remain at camp to prepare for the grand feast while the others went in search of rabbits. Walter and Hal, knowing the surrounding country, were to go each on his own hook while Pat would take Sparrer with him. Just before starting the two former held a whispered conference. They had brought in with them a few gifts for Pat and his partner and also some small packages which the home folks had pledged them not to open until Christmas day. At Hal's suggestion it was decided to say nothing about these until night and spring them as a surprise at the Christmas tree on which Hal had set his heart.
As Pat had foreseen, there was a crust on which the shoes made no impression. Hal elected to go down the north side of the brook while Upton took the opposite side. Pat and Sparrer were to visit a certain swamp not far distant. All were to be back at the cabin by eleven o'clock.
To Upton the tramp in that wonderful wilderness of glistening white meant far more than the hunt. As a matter of fact the very thought of killing anything amid such pure surroundings was repugnant to him. To this feeling a big white hare which foolishly sat up to stare at him within fifteen minutes after he had left the cabin undoubtedly owed its life. Slowly the rifle had been raised until the sights rested squarely between the two innocent staring eyes. Then it had been as slowly lowered. "I can't do it, puss. The others will get all we need to eat, I guess, so suppose you remove your pretty self from the range of temptation," said he, taking a sudden forward step. Thereupon puss promptly acted upon his advice, and so precipitately that Upton laughed aloud. "Merry Christmas!" he shouted as the bounding white form disappeared.
That decided him. His heart was not in hunting that morning. What he did want to do was just to tramp and drink in the beauty of the wonderful scene. His rifle was a nuisance. He wished that he had not brought it at all. Why not cache it and pick it up on his way back? A hasty survey of his surroundings discovered a fire blackened hollow stub split its full length on one side. It was the very thing he was looking for. It was a landmark he could not very well miss on his return. He put his rifle in it, tightened his belt, and then deliberately turned his back on the valley and headed for the top of the ridge. He was in quest of views, and not of game.
Climbing a ridge on a snow crust is no child's play, as Walter soon found out. It sometimes seemed as if he slipped back two feet for every one he gained. He tried taking off the shoes, only to find that in sheltered places he broke through and was worse off than on the slipping shoes. But he was grimly resolved that he would get to the top of the ridge, cost him what it might. It was characteristic of the boy that what he set out to do he did. So he ground his teeth and kept at it, slipping, scrambling, pulling himself up by brush and trees. After a little he discovered that by zigzagging back and forth along the face of the slope and taking advantage of every little inequality he could make fairly good progress.
Still it took an hour and a half of strenuous work to gain the coveted top of the ridge, and he was thoroughly winded and weary, to say nothing of sundry bruises and scratches from frequent falls. Panting and perspiring he turned to look back. Below him lay Smugglers' Hollow, but how different from the Hollow into which he had gazed for the first time in September! It was not less lonely or less wild. In fact if anything these features were accentuated. The mountains which seemed to enclose it on all sides were no less heroically grand and rugged, but they had been robbed in a measure of their forbidding, somber gloom by the transforming mantle of snow. The heavy stand of spruce on the opposite mountain no longer cloaked it with the shadows of night like a perpetual threat of evil. Each tree was a pyramid of myriad gems flashing in the sun.
He could trace the course of the frozen brook through the heart of the Hollow, a ribbon of white, smooth and unbroken, between the fringe of alders on either side. He could see the cabin, or rather the roof and eaves, for the cabin itself was nearly buried in a drift. From the chimney a thin pencil of blue smoke rose straight up in the still air. It was the one thing needed. It in no way marred the grandeur of the scene, but it saved it from utter desolation. Something of this sort flitted vaguely through Upton's mind. Then he heard the faint crack of a rifle on the opposite side of the Hollow, followed by two more cracks. The smoke and the sound of the rifle removed the last vestige of temporary depression which the grandeur of the scene and the utter silence of the vast solitude had tended to produce.
"Hal's got into a bunch of 'em or else his shooting eye is off," he chuckled and turned to scan the ridge he was on to the west. It presented a broken line of low peaks. One slightly higher than the rest marked the place where the pass to the Hollow entered. It was the hill from which the Lost Trail party had first looked into Smugglers' Hollow, and the view from the summit was more complete than from the point Walter now occupied.
"I'd like to get up there," he thought, "but it's a little too much of an undertaking on this crust. Besides, it would make me late for dinner. Hello! Wonder what that is."
He had caught a sudden flash on the highest point of the peak. As he watched he saw it again. His first thought had been that it was the sun reflected from a bit of ice, but an instant's thought convinced him that this couldn't be. It would of necessity be fixed and steady. The flashes he had seen were made by something moving. With this knowledge came the sudden conviction that the flashes were caused by the sun striking on polished metal. Hastily feeling in his rucksack he drew out a pair of opera-glasses which he always carried with him for use in studying birds and animals. They were not very strong, but sufficiently so to bring the peak perceptibly nearer. At first he could make out nothing unusual. Then through the glasses he caught that flash again and focussed them as nearly as possible on the spot from which it had come. For some minutes he saw nothing suspicious. He was almost ready to give up and conclude that it was in his imagination when he was positive that he saw something move back of a stunted little spruce growing from a cleft in the rocks at the point where he had located the flashes.
Instantly every instinct of the true scout was aroused. There was something alive back of that little spruce. It might be an animal and then again it might be a man. At once there flashed into his mind Alec's account of the robbed traps. Could it be that one of the thieves was reconnoitering the Hollow? His heart gave a queer jump at the thought. Anyway it was clearly up to him to find out what he could.
Rapidly he reviewed the situation. It was clear that from his present location he would gain no further information if his suspicions were true. If an enemy was watching from behind that spruce he was undoubtedly aware of Walter's presence, for he was standing in the open. Beyond question he had been watched from the time he left the cabin. To make a false move now would be to give warning. He regretted that he had gazed so long at the suspected point. That in itself would be sufficient to arouse suspicion in the mind of any one hiding there. The first thing then was to allay any such suspicion.
Deliberately he turned his glasses across the Hollow and studied the opposite mountain for a greater length of time than he had watched the point where he had seen the flash. Then he squatted down and leisurely turned his glasses from point to point in the Hollow in the manner of one having no interest in anything but the view. Not once did he glance back along the ridge, although he was burning with curiosity and desire to do so. He ignored it as if it held no further interest for him whatever. For perhaps ten minutes he continued to act the part of a mere sightseer. Then putting his glasses back in his rucksack he stretched lazily and in a leisurely manner began to pick his way down into a little draw which cut back into the ridge in the opposite direction from the pass. Once down in this he would be out of sight of a possible watcher at the spruce lookout.
As soon as he was sure that he was beyond observation Upton hurried. The draw led back into a thick stand of young growth, and he hoped by working up through this to be able to cross the ridge unobserved and work back to a point which he had carefully noted and from which, owing to the change of angle, he felt sure he would be able to see back of the little spruce tree which had previously cut off his view. Getting up to the top of the ridge was stiff work for an inexperienced snow-shoer in a hurry and was productive of many tumbles, but it was accomplished at last. After this it was comparatively easy to work along just below the top on the back side to the point he had selected.
There he cautiously crept into a thicket of young spruce and, his heart beating like a trip-hammer with excitement, carefully parted the branches until he could get a clear view. His hands trembled as he drew out the glasses. Would he discover anything, or had he been wrought up to such a pitch over nothing? The little spruce leaped out clear and distinct as he got the focus. "Ha!" The exclamation was wholly involuntary and he experienced an absurd impulse to look around to make sure that he had not been overheard, although he knew that he was absolutely alone.
The cause was the figure of a man squatting behind the spruce and peering intently into the valley. He wore a fur cup pulled low to shade his eyes, and this, together with the distance, made it impossible for Upton to see his features clearly, but somehow he received an unshakable conviction that it was an Indian or a half-breed. A rifle leaned against the tree and doubtless it was the glint of the sun on its polished surface that had produced the mysterious flashes that had first caught his attention.
"He's watching to see if I go back to the cabin," thought Walter. "If he doesn't see me by the time the others return he'll smell a rat. There's nothing more to be gained by staying here. I've proved that we are being watched, and that's all I can do. It's up to me to get back and tell the others."
Cautiously the boy retreated through the thicket until he was below the cap of the ridge. Then he hurried, running when he could and finding it less difficult than he had imagined. He crossed above the head of the draw and went on until he had reached a point which he judged must be about opposite to where he had left his rifle in the hollow tree. His first impulse had been to keep on until he could come out directly in the rear of the cabin, but on second thought he had decided that it would be wiser to return by the same way that he had left and get his rifle. If he had been seen leaving the cabin with his rifle it would look odd, to say the least, if he should be seen returning without it.
In climbing the ridge he had zigzagged back and forth, picking the easiest grade, but now he was too impatient for so slow a method of descent and plunged straight down, slipping, sliding, checking himself by catching at trees and brush, getting a fall now and then as the web of his shoes caught in a stick, but on the whole doing very well. One thing he had not considered as he should have—the possibility of slipping over an unseen ledge. It was brought home to him when he brought a rather long slide to an abrupt end by catching a tree on the very edge of a sheer drop of perhaps eight feet.
"Phew!" he gasped. "A little more and I'd have gone over that and had a nasty tumble. Been the same way if it had been a fifty foot ledge. I see where little Walter will be turning up missing one of these days if he doesn't look out. It's a poor scout who takes needless chances in territory he isn't familiar with. I'll be more careful hereafter."
He peered over the edge of the ledge. Below the snow had drifted deep and it was clear. The ledge ran east and west for some distance, and to make a detour would take time. His first thought was to kick off his shoes, toss them down and then jump. But if he did this he would be sure to break through the crust and he had no means of knowing the depth of that drift or what might be underneath it. He had no desire to find out. He must either jump on his shoes or go around, and the temptation was to jump.
"May as well learn to jump now as another time," he muttered, for the time being forgetting that in the event of a mishap, such as a twisted ankle, he would be helpless in a temperature far below zero.
He walked back a bit, took three or four long quick strides and leaped. As he left the edge of the little bluff he felt the tails of his shoes drop until the big webs hung from his feet at an angle but slightly off the perpendicular. A momentary doubt of a successful landing flashed through his mind. He had a vision of an ignominious plunge through the crust and perhaps broken shoes. Then automatically he set himself for the landing, arms spread, body thrust forward and knees bent. It seemed as if those hanging shoes certainly must trip him. A second later he struck the crust in a half crouch. The crust cracked and gave a little, just enough to prevent the shoes from sliding. With a quick step he regained his balance and with a sense of exhilaration realized that he had made successfully his first jump on snow-shoes.
From this point he had little difficulty in reaching the hollow stub, where he secured his rifle and then turned toward the cabin. Hal was just coming in. From one hand dangled a snow-shoe rabbit.
"Is that all you've got for all that shooting I've heard?" chaffed Walter.
Hal grinned. "Couldn't hit a balloon if it was big as a mountain and tied down in front of me," he confessed. "Don't know what the trouble was, but I just couldn't shoot. Wouldn't have got this fellow if he hadn't sat up and begged to be shot. Missed him a mile the first time at ten yards. Bullet didn't go near enough to scare him. Second shot was no better. Got him on the third shot, but I believe at that he jumped in front of the bullet. You don't seem to have had even that much luck. What was the trouble? Haven't heard your rifle this morning."
"Didn't feel like hunting. Went up on the ridge to get the view instead," returned Walter carelessly. "Wonder how Sparrer made out."
They entered the cabin to find Pat and Sparrer already there, the latter so excited that he gave vent to a joyful whoop when he caught sight of them and rushed precipitately to the back of the room to drag forth two pairs of rabbits.
"Plugged 'em all meself!" he declared proudly.
The rabbits were duly examined and Sparrer was praised for his marksmanship until his cheeks burned, Pat leading in piling it on thick. Two of the rabbits had been neatly drilled through the heads, a third had "got it in the neck," as Pat put it, and the fourth had been shot through the body. Pat forestalled any criticism by explaining that this was the first rabbit they had found and he had told Sparrer to "shoot at thot little lump av snow just by way av gettin' yer hand in." Quite innocently Sparrer had done so, and had nearly dropped the rifle in surprise when the lump of snow had resolved itself into a rabbit which gave a few spasmodic kicks and then lay still.
Of course Hal was chaffed unmercifully over his one lone contribution to the larder, especially when he admitted that he had shot at no less than five. But he took it good-naturedly, confessing that he was utterly at loss to account for his bad form.
Meanwhile Upton had said nothing about his discovery on the ridge. His first impulse had been to blurt out the news, but on second thought he had decided not to. At the first opportunity he drew Pat aside and told him. The big fellow's face darkened. "Say nothing about it," he counseled. "There's no use in spoiling a merry day, and the knowledge that we are being watched will do them no good. There's nothing we can do about it to-day. 'Tis not likely they mean us any harm. It's the fur they are after, and they've just taken advantage of the crust which leaves no trail to look us over and find out how many are in our party."
So Walter held his peace, and threw himself into the preparations for dinner as if he had nothing of more importance on his mind. That Christmas feast will never be forgotten by the three city lads. There was the promised roast of venison, a rabbit stew, potatoes baked in the ashes, canned peas, biscuit, a jar of jam, and, to top off with, a hot apple pie made from evaporated apples. But the real surprise was a steak done to a turn over the hot coals.
"Bear!" shouted Hal as he set his teeth in the first mouthful.
Alec smiled. "I see ye have tasted it before," said he.
"Once," replied Hal. "Louis Woodhull got one on that Swift River trip a year ago last fall. But when did you get this fellow, and why have you kept so mum about it?"
Alec nodded toward the skin which was to be Spud Ely's. "It's the same one," said he. "I've kept part of him ripening out in the storehouse against this day," he explained.
When they could eat no more there was a general loosening of belts and sighs of complete satisfaction into which Pat rudely broke with a demand for dishwashers and wipers.
"Oh, can it!" grunted Hal. "When a fellow's in the seventh heaven what do you try to bring him down to earth again for?"
But Pat was obdurate, and with many an exaggerated grunt and groan the remains of the feast were cleared away, the dishes washed and the cabin set to rights. Then followed a lazy hour before the rifle match. It was agreed that Pat and Alec, both of whom were expert shots, should count as a clean miss any shot not striking in the black, while the others should be credited with whatever their actual scores were. Each was to be allowed ten shots. The bull's-eye counted ten, the first ring outside counted nine, the next ring eight, and so on. Each was allowed three trial shots to get the range.
Hal was the first to take his trial shots. At the crack of the rifle Upton ran forward to examine the target. "Never touched it! Didn't even hit the board! Some shooter you are, Hal!" he yelled.
Hal flushed, but said nothing. For his second shot he took plenty of time and was as careful as he knew how to be. The result was the same. For his third shot he used a rest, which was contrary to the rules, but was allowed, as this was only a trial shot. This time he nicked a splinter from one edge of the board on which the target was fastened.
"Here, let me see that rifle," cried Pat, striding forward and snatching the gun out of Hal's hands. He sighted it, then handed it back with a grin. "Will ye tell me how iver ye got thot wan rabbit wid a gun the loikes av thot?" he demanded.
"Why, what's the matter with the gun?" demanded Hal, reaching for it, a puzzled scowl furrowing his brows.
Alec forestalled him and took the rifle from Pat's hands. He in turn sighted along the barrel. "Laddie," said he, the soberness of his face belied by the twinkle in his eyes, "do ye no ken that a gun is like a fine lady? It must be treated wi' respect."
Hal took the gun with a puzzled look. "I don't quite get you fellows yet," said he.
Pat laughed outright. "Look at your forward sight, man. You've hit the end of your barrel against something and knocked that sight a wee bit out of alignment. It must have been pure luck that you got that rabbit this morning."
"Use my rifle," interrupted Walter.
"Thanks," replied Hal. "I believe I will. Even if I got the sights adjusted on my gun I shouldn't be able to shoot. Every time I made a poor shot I'd have the feeling that it was the gun's fault. My, but it is a relief to know that I haven't gone back in my shooting quite so badly as all that."
All having made their trial shots the match was on. Walter shot first, getting five tens, four nines and an eight, a total of ninety-four. Alec was next, and his first shot was a nine, followed by nine bull's-eyes, a total of ninety under his handicap. Hal started off with a seven, went into the black six times in succession, then got two eights and wound up with a nine, total ninety-two. Sparrer gave them a surprise with eighty-seven and Pat slapped him on the back. The coaching he had received that morning during the rabbit hunt had not been in vain. Pat was the last man up, and shot rapidly and with seeming carelessness, but the succession of bull's-eyes was proof that this was more apparent than real. His last shot, however, barely touched the edge of the black, and he insisted that it be counted a miss, tying him with Alec and giving Walter the match.
After this Pat and Alec shot a friendly match. While this was going on Hal slipped back to the cabin. He had marked a small spruce of perfect shape not far from the rear of the cabin, and this he now cut and dragged in. By the time the shooting was over he had it set up at the rear of the room and had stretched a blanket across so as to screen it. When his comrades came trooping in they were warned not to peep behind it under threat of dire penalties. He made one exception. He needed Upton's help and also the gifts that Walter had brought from home.
By the time they had finished it was quite dark in the cabin. They piled logs on the fire and when the blaze was leaping merrily up the chimney and casting a warm ruddy light over the room Hal suggested that they draw up to the fire for a Christmas story. He chose the German legend of the origin of the Christmas tree. He possessed no mean skill as a story-teller and he threw himself into the telling of this so that his listeners sat in rapt attention.
Just before the conclusion he gave Walter a signal and the latter arose and slipped back of the blanket. As the story ended the blanket was pulled down and there was the little tree glittering with lights and tinsel and hung with the gifts which the boys had brought. There was a delighted gasp from Pat, Alec and Sparrer and then a silence that was a tribute in itself as they watched the colored candles gradually shorten. The truth is it was the first Christmas tree within the experience of any one of the three, and they were as delighted as any children could have been.
When the candles had burned down to the danger point Hal blew them out and then distributed the gifts, which were opened amid much hilarity and fun making.
"This makes up for the stockings this morning," he laughed as the others showered him with fulsome praise.
"It more than makes up," declared Pat. "'Tis a Christmas I'll never forget." Then as he lovingly fingered a long desired book sent in by Doctor Merriam he added: "But when did you think of the tree idea? Was it in New York?"
Hal nodded. "The idea came to me the very day we left. Saw a window full of tree fixings and on the impulse ran in and got the candles and tinsel. Glad you like it."
An hour of story-telling followed ere they turned in and silence like a Christmas benediction settled over the cabin.
"Would you fellows like to visit a deer yard?" Pat asked at breakfast the next morning when the subject of the day's program had been brought up.
"Would we!" Upton fairly shouted it. "Say, Pat, do you mean that there is a really, truly sure enough deer yard anywhere near here? I've read about 'em, and I'd give all my old shoes to see one."
"Right O, my fine bucko! You shall see one, and it won't cost you so much as a shoestring," replied Pat. "It's not over a mile from camp, and on the ridge just above it is one of those deadfalls for bear that Alec built last fall. We'll take that in and kill two birds with one stone if you say so. There are some marten traps on that same ridge that I want to have a look at. What do you say, Alec?"
"Verra good," replied Alec. "You show the laddies the yard and look over that line, and I'll take the short line east. We'll get back here by noon and this afternoon we can show them some other sets."
To this plan the others agreed with enthusiasm and preparations for an immediate start were begun. "Shall we take rifles?" asked Hal eagerly.
"For what?" demanded Pat. "We be going to visit a deer yard, and 'twould be tempting fate and flying in the face of Providence to let such a bloodthirsty young gintleman in among the poor cratures with a gun in his hands."
Hal joined in the laugh at his expense and then added rather lamely:
"We might run across that silver fox."
"And we might jump over the moon. The one is as likely as the other," retorted Pat.
So the guns were left at the cabin. Pat led the way straight to the ridge on which Spud Ely had missed his first chance to get a buck in the fall, but instead of climbing the ridge worked along the foot of it, skirting a swamp. They followed the edge of this for some distance and then abruptly turned into it. The growth was dense in places, with thickets of young hemlocks which afforded both warmth and shelter in severe weather. Almost at once they came to a deeply trodden path which led them presently to a maze of paths running in all directions.
"Here we are," said Pat.
Sparrer's face was a study. "Where's de yard?" he asked.
"All around here," replied Pat with a comprehensive sweep of his arm, "wherever you see these paths." Then, a sudden light breaking over him, he added, "Did you expect to find a fence around it, son?"
Sparrer grinned, not at all embarrassed by the general laugh and perfectly willing to confess his ignorance. "All de yards ever Oi seen had fences round 'em. Oi thought a fence was what made a yard," he confessed.
"Not a deer yard," replied Pat. "A deer yard is a place where the deer tramp out paths in the snow and spend the winter. It is made where they get both shelter and food. When the first deep snow comes they collect in such a place and start the paths while browsing for food. Then as the snow gets deeper they follow the same paths because it is easier going, and make new paths only when they have to to reach new food supplies. By continually using these paths they keep them open and manage to pick up a living browsing on twigs and pawing down to the ground moss. By the time the heaviest snows come they can't very well get out if they want to, especially when there is a crust like this. You see some of those paths are two to three feet deep. The more plentiful the feed and the smaller the herd the smaller the yard. Before there were any laws to protect deer and moose they used to be slaughtered in the yards by trappers and lumber jacks because it is no trick at all for a man on snow-shoes to run them down. Once get them frightened so that they break out of the yard and they can be run down in no time. There's a deal of poaching goes on now when a yard is discovered near a lumber camp. It's just plain murder and nothing less. I've known a whole family of moose, bull, cow, yearling and calf, to be wiped out in one day by a bloody-minded game-hog. Didn't even waste a shot on the calf, but ran it down and cut its throat. Red Pete, the brute Walt helped to put in the pen the first year he came up here, used to make a business of locating deer yards and keeping lumber camps supplied with fresh meat all winter. The poor critters haven't even a running chance for their lives."
"Oi hope we'll be able to lamp some. Oi wud loike to put me peepers on a real live wild deer before we go home," said Sparrer, his eyes shining with suppressed excitement.
"I guess I can promise you that, my son," replied Pat. "We'll separate here. Sparrer and I will work off to leeward, Hal will keep straight ahead and Walt will swing to windward. If you two start any they will work over to us and give Sparrer a chance to see em. Yell if you start any. I reckon you'll find 'em pretty tame. They haven't been bothered here and they know as well as we do that the law protects 'em now. Watch for fresh sign and follow it up."
They separated as suggested, Hal and Walter moving slowly so as to give Pat and Sparrer time to gain a good position. Walter swung well to the windward side. Of course this meant that his chances of getting a close view of any deer which might be on his side of the yard were comparatively slim. They would wind him and at once move on. He was in effect a driver for the others. But he didn't mind this. Wild deer were no new sight to him, and he was only too anxious to give Sparrer the pleasure which he knew a glimpse of Peaked-toes in the freedom of his native woods would be.
He chose what appeared to be one of the most used paths and followed this as quietly as he could. He soon found that still hunting on snow-shoes and with moccasined feet on bare ground were two very different matters. He was not yet sufficiently adept on the big webs to keep them from clacking as the rim of one shoe passed over the rim of the other. The harder he tried not to the more noise he made, it seemed. Clack, clack, clack. It was most annoying. He stopped to consider. Then on the impulse of a sudden idea he slipped his shoes off and dropped down into the path he had been following. Here he could walk without noise. The droppings of the deer, known as "sign" by all hunters, were numerous, and the brush within reach from the path showed indications of having been browsed on recently, and he found several places where sharp hoofs had pawed away the snow since the last storm.
The path twisted and turned and doubled on itself, showing that it had been made originally by aimless wandering in quest of food. Other paths crossed it, but Walter avoided these, judging that the one he was on was as likely as another to lead him to the quarry. At length after an abrupt turn it led straight into a thicket of hemlocks, young growth. As he approached this there was a sharp sound like the sudden release of compressed air, repeated a second later from a point a trifle to the right. It was the alarm warning of deer. Above the snow just to the right of and beyond the thicket he caught a glimpse of the heads and necks of two does moving rapidly. The effect was most peculiar. It was as if they possessed no bodies until one of them made a high jump for just an instant, bringing the back and rump, with its snowy white flag stiffly erect, into view.
"From the way they go I should think it was the hunting season. I had an idea that they wouldn't be particularly timid, but those two lit out in a regular panic. Act like they'd been hunted until their nerves were all on edge," thought the boy as he hurriedly forced his way through the thicket.
He had no expectation of finding more there, but was eager to see where the two had been lying and then to follow them up as rapidly as possible. So he burst through the screen of hemlocks in rather precipitate fashion, an unusual proceeding for Upton, whose natural caution had been supplemented by a very thorough training in woodcraft during the three summers he had spent at Woodcraft Camp. The instant he was through the barrier he realized the folly of his action. Facing him, not ten feet away, was a big buck with a splendid pair of antlers.
If the does were panic stricken their lord was not. On the contrary he was the embodiment of vicious anger. The hair on his neck was raised, his eyes blazed with rage; and he was pawing the snow with impatience. These details were registered on Walter's mind to be recalled later, but at the time he was conscious of but one thing—that he had stumbled into a predicament which might easily cost him his life. No sooner was he clearly in view than the buck charged. Telling of it at the cabin that night Upton declared that in that fleeting instant it seemed to him that he was staring at a whole forest of horns pointed straight for him.
Intuition is subconscious direction without the aid of conscious thought and is usually the result of wisely directed thinking in the past. As a Scout Upton had tried to train himself to meet emergencies, to be prepared, and it was the result of this training that governed him now. Dropping his snow-shoes he leaped aside. Fortunately the snow had been trampled down for a sufficient space at this point to allow of this. As it was the buck swept past so close as to almost graze his clothing.
Indeed so narrow had been the margin that the shoes, released as he jumped, fell directly in front of the infuriated animal and the brow antlers pierced the meshes of one of them. It was this lucky circumstance which was Upton's salvation. For a few minutes the buck's attention was wholly engaged with this new adversary which banged against his nose, obscured his vision and clung to him in such inexplicable fashion. He tried to back away from it, but in vain. Then he plunged forward and sought to grind it into the snow, with the result that he only fixed it more firmly on his antlers. In vain he struck at it with his feet. The dangling tail offered nothing on which to get a purchase. Fear now began to replace rage. Here was an enemy that would neither fight nor run away. Nor could he in turn run away from it.
Meanwhile Walter had made the most of his opportunity. But a few feet distant was a young hemlock tree. Floundering through the snow he reached this and scrambled up. It was a small tree, and his perch was none too secure, and anything but comfortable for an extended stay. But it meant safety for the time being, and just then this was everything. With a sigh of thankfulness he turned his attention to the scene below, and his sense of humor for the moment overcame everything else. The buck was plainly being worsted in his battle with the snow-shoe, and was working himself into a panic. His great eyes were wide with fright as he backed and plunged and vainly reared in an effort to strike with his forefeet. With every toss of his head the tail of the shoe rapped him sharply across his nose, adding injury to insult. It was so funny that Walter fairly shouted with laughter, and the sound of his voice added to the terror of the frantic animal.
With a desperate leap sidewise in an effort to get clear of his tormentor he landed in the deep snow, his sharp hoofs cutting through the crust. Then followed a succession of floundering plunges which took him still further into trouble until at last, panting from fright and the result of his efforts, he was forced to cease his struggles from sheer weariness.
It was then that Upton thought seriously of his own plight. The buck was not much more helpless than he himself without his shoes. One lay below him in the snow, somewhat the worse for the trampling of the buck during his wild plunging. This he could retrieve without trouble or danger. But the other was still fast on those uncomfortably sharp horns, and he was of no mind to make a closer acquaintance with them unaided. It was then that he remembered that in the subsequent excitement he had failed to give the view hallo when he had started the does and thus warn the others that game was afoot. A yell now would mean to the others merely that they were to be on the watch for deer headed their way unless they were near enough to distinguish words, which he much doubted.
Then he remembered the whistle which he always carried and the emergency call for help of the Blue Tortoise Patrol. Both Hal and Sparrer would recognize and understand that. Somehow it seemed less a compromise of dignity than yelling for help. He raised the whistle to his lips and blew the signal, waited five seconds and blew again. A minute later he heard a reply from a lesser distance than he had expected, followed almost at once by another which was rendered fainter by distance.
"Reached both of 'em," he muttered complacently. "Hal isn't so far away as I was afraid he might be. Guess I better tell them what the trouble is."
With the whistle he spelled out in the Morse code "T-r-e-e-d b-y a b-u-c-k w-a-t-c-h o-u-t."
Back came the double reply "O. K.," followed by Hal's voice in a long drawn "Hello-o-o." Shouting occasionally to give the others the direction Upton climbed down from his perch, recovered the one shoe and then waited with such patience as he could. Hal was soon within easy shouting distance and the anxiety in his voice as he inquired if Upton was all right was very evident. Set at rest on this point he whooped joyously and Upton grinned ruefully.
"This will be nuts for Hal. He'll never let me hear the end of it. I'm glad he didn't see me up the tree," he thought. Aloud he warned Hal not to come too near, but to wait until the others came up. While he felt that the buck was so bedded in the snow as to be practically harmless he wanted no chances taken.
A few minutes later Pat and Sparrer came up, panting with the exertion of their long run, and the circumstances were briefly explained. Pat took in the situation at a glance and his eyes danced with enjoyment, and all three began to chaff Walter unmercifully. But there was little time for this just then. The coming up of the others had further alarmed the buck, who had recovered wind and strength to some degree, and was now renewing his efforts to escape.
Pat ordered Hal to circle around and head off the animal, while he himself came up from behind and endeavored to free the shoe. Sparrer was to stand by in case of need and render any assistance he could. Upton was to stay where he was. Indeed there was nothing else for him to do, as once in the deep snow he would be more helpless than the deer. The latter was still floundering forward and there were stains of red on the crust where it had cut the slender legs.
As Hal appeared in front of him, whooping excitedly, the buck ceased his struggling and stood shoulder deep in the snow, his sides heaving and his steaming nostrils quivering as he labored for breath.
"Poor thing! He hasn't got another kick in him," Hal exclaimed, drawing so near that he could reach out and touch the slender muzzle.
"Don't be too sure of that, me bye. Betther shtand back a bit," warned Pat coming up from the animal's rear and leaning forward to get hold of the shoe.
Hardly were the words out of his mouth when the buck flung his head up and back. The tail of the shoe flew up, striking Hal a sharp blow on the side of his head. Instinctively he jumped back, forgetting that he was on snow-shoes. The result was immediate and decisive. With a wild yell he pitched backward and disappeared in the snow. At the same instant Pat grabbed the buck's horns, one with each hand, and straddling his back called for Sparrer to free the shoe. This Sparrer succeeded in doing after a few minutes' struggle and then turned his attention to Hal, whose muffled cries of "Help! Take him away!" bore evidence to the fact that he was under the impression that the buck had knocked him down and was trying to trample him. In fact it was hard work to convince him that this was not the case until with Sparrer's help he regained his feet and got the snow out of his eyes sufficiently to see Pat struggling with the deer.
As soon as Hal and Sparrer were at a safe distance Pat let go and joined the others, breathing heavily from his exertions. The deer, freed of the hateful thing which had clung to his head and been the cause of all his troubles, turned and with awkward jumps plunged back through the way he had broken in leaving the yard. Pat warned Walter to keep out of sight so as not to turn the animal into new difficulties, and presently they saw him reach the trodden paths of the yard and with a shake of his beautifully crowned head bound lightly away.
Then while they took stock of damages Upton told his story. "An innocent babe in the woods," murmured Pat when Walter told how he had removed his shoes and taken to the deer paths. "If that had been a bull moose now instead of a buck 'tis loike yer frinds wud be weeping instead av laughing at ye this very minut."
"That's true, Pat," replied Walter promptly. "It was a foolish thing to do, and I know it now. As it is you've got the laugh on me—and Hal," he added slyly. "How about it, Hal?"
"Oh, it's on me too, all right," returned that young gentleman, rubbing the lump on his head. "I sure thought that brute was right on top of me."
Pat meanwhile had brought out some stout twine and was making temporary repairs on the damaged shoes. Beyond some damage to the webbing where the horns had pierced it the one which had been the cause of the buck's discomfiture was as good as ever, but the frame of the other had been badly split by the sharp hoofs of the plunging animal. Bringing the broken parts together Pat wound them with the twine, and when he had finished pronounced the shoe fit for the trip back to the cabin, where he would undertake a more permanent job.
"We won't visit those traps now," said he in spite of Walter's protest that he could go back while the others went on, and led the way homeward.
The behavior of the deer in the yard had puzzled Upton not a little. He could evolve no theory to account for it. Why at this season of the year should those two does have appeared so terror stricken at his approach, and why should the buck have been in such an ugly mood? From all accounts he had read, and from what Pat had said, he had had good grounds for expecting the animals to be fairly tame. He put the matter up to Pat as they tramped homeward, but his reply was evasive and unsatisfactory. In fact, the big fellow was not inclined to talk. He appeared to have something on his mind, and strode along with a black scowl darkening his usually good-humored face. Once Walter thought he detected a slight shake of his head at Sparrer as the latter started to say something. He was sure of it when the latter abruptly changed the subject.
Pat set a stiff pace. He seemed in a hurry to get back to the cabin. As he opened the cabin door and looked in a flash of what looked to Upton very much like relief crossed his face as he saw that it was empty, it being too early for Alec to have returned. This puzzled Walter more than ever, but he held his tongue and forbore to ask questions. He felt sure that in his own good time Pat would unburden himself. The latter at once went to work on the broken shoe, replacing the twine with a rawhide thong made pliable by soaking in water. This would contract in drying and the broken frame would be stronger than ever.
He had just finished the job when Alec came in with two marten. "Any signs of our friends, the enemy?" asked Pat whimsically.
Alec shook his head. "No one has been near the traps," he replied. "I dinna think they will dare come so near the cabin."
"You've got another guess coming, Alec," retorted Pat. "The murthering thaves killed two deer within a mile of here yesterday."
"What!" exclaimed Walter and Hal in unison, while Alec suspended his skinning knife in mid air and shot a keen glance at Pat.
"It's a fact," Pat went on. "Sparrer will tell you so."
Sparrer nodded in confirmation of Pat's surprising statement.
"But we didn't hear any guns," protested Hal.
"No," replied Pat, "for the very good reason that no guns were fired. They were not hunting; they were butchering." Then he graphically described for Alec's benefit Upton's experience with the buck that morning, and the story lost nothing in the telling. "Walt," he continued, "knows enough about deer to realize that the deer he saw did not behave as he expected they would, and he's been puzzling over it ever since. I'll tell you the reason. They've been hunted and harried in that yard till their nerves are on the jump so that they will run from their own shadows, all but the buck, and I guess now after his scrap with the snow-shoe he will be as bad as the does. As it was he was simply fighting mad, knowing their helplessness outside the yard. Ordinarily he would have simply trotted off quietly with the does. But they were hunted yesterday to a point where the old fellow was desperate, and the proof of it is what Sparrer and I found."
"What was it?" demanded Walter eagerly.
"We found where a fawn and a doe had been driven into the deep snow and butchered with a knife," replied Pat. "The story was plain enough for any one who can read signs. It was no trick at all for those bloody poachers on snow-shoes to run them down and drive them into the snow. After that no gun was needed. Besides, a gun is too noisy for thieves and lawbreakers. Walt didn't tell you what he saw yesterday. Fire away, Walt, and tell 'em."
Upton told briefly what he had seen on the peak by the pass and his reasons for telling only Pat. Alec's face hardened as he listened and a steely glint crept into his eyes. When Walter had finished Pat continued.
"You fellows wondered why I was so keen on getting back to the cabin. It was because I don't believe it is safe to leave it unguarded. As long as the snow was soft those thieves kept away from the Hollow, but with this crust to leave no tracks they've come down here, and they've been watching us. They know how many of us are here and are watching our movements. They'd raid the cabin in a minute if they saw the chance. But as long as anybody is here they'll keep out of sight. Hereafter we'll leave a guard when we go out. To-morrow Alec and I will start before daybreak to look for those fellows and leave you youngsters to amuse yourselves. I have an idea that their camp isn't so far away as Alec thought it was. Now we'll have dinner, and this afternoon Alec and I will look over a couple of the short lines, one of you can keep guard here and the other two can go with us or do anything else you please."
Upton insisted that he should keep guard, Hal decided to go with Alec, and Sparrer with a little hesitancy confessed that he would like to hunt rabbits. The experience of Christmas morning had whetted his taste for hunting and following a trap line seemed tame sport in comparison. He was eager to try his luck alone, and when Walter offered the loan of his rifle his happiness was complete. When the others had departed he shouldered the rifle and at Upton's suggestion started to follow the course of the brook up to the beaver ponds so as to see the houses and dams and then go on to the swamp at the head of the ponds where Spud Ely had found the rabbit tracks which had ultimately led to his finding of Alec Smith the fall before.
It did not take him long to reach the first or big dam. It was difficult for this boy of the city to believe that this could be the work of animals and not men, and had he not seen some of the beaver cuttings in the Bronx Park at home he would have been inclined to think that Upton had been stuffing him when he told him about the dam. There was little opportunity to examine the construction, because it was covered with snow and was in effect a long solid wall of glistening white. Beyond stretched the smooth even surface of the big pond, with nothing to break the dead level of it but three white mounds over toward the north shore. These he knew must be the houses of which Upton had told him, and he at once decided to go over and investigate them.
As he approached them he discovered several small mounds around two of the houses, but thought nothing of this until he noticed that the snow around them had been recently disturbed, and that the mounds themselves were not crusted. Instantly every sense which his Scout training had developed was aroused. Here was something peculiar, and to be investigated. Could this be the work of the beavers? He would find out. Rapidly he dug into one of the mounds and presently disclosed evergreen boughs over which the snow had been heaped. Could this be some work of the strange little animals of which he had never heard? He lifted one of the boughs and looked at the butt. It had beenbrokenoff and not cut by teeth. Moreover, it was freshly broken. He examined another with the same result. Underneath was a larger one, and this had been cut with an axe.
Sparrer straightened and looked keenly in all directions. A sudden suspicion was rapidly crystallizing into conviction in his mind. This was the work of man. What did it mean? So far as he could see there was not another living thing in all that great white waste. The vast silence was oppressive. Involuntarily he shivered. For the first time the loneliness of complete solitude gripped him, the more so that hitherto in all his life he had never known what it was to be absolutely alone. From babyhood he had been surrounded night and day by human beings, many of them evil, but human nevertheless. Even since he had entered the woods he had not been out of speaking distance of one or more of his companions until now. An overwhelming sense of littleness and insignificance swept over him. There was something sinister and threatening in the towering hills. He had the feeling that unseen eyes were watching him and it made his flesh creep. He knew it was, must be, only a feeling, yet he could not rid himself of it. It is a feeling which every one who is alone for the first time in the wilderness experiences.
Then he shook himself. "Youse is sure losing yer goat, Sparrer," he muttered. "Buck up!"
With this he resumed his investigations. When the last of the boughs had been removed he found a hole in the ice about a foot and a half wide and a trifle longer. Along one end and both sides small dead sticks had been driven into the mud and close to the edges of the hole. These were about four inches apart and formed a little pen with one end open. Close to one side and projecting beyond the pen through the open end was a long freshly cut green poplar stick fastened about two inches above the bottom. The water was shallow and presently he made out a steel trap dimly outlined well inside the pen quite close to the poplar stick, the chain fastened to one of the pen stakes.
It was all perfectly clear now to even such a novice as Sparrer. It was a set for beaver. He knew enough about the animals to know that their favorite food is poplar bark. The green poplar stick was bait. It seemed queer to think of a stick of wood as bait, but this is what it was, and nothing else. He saw that it was securely fastened at the butt end in a corner of the pen and was staked down near the opening so that there could be no cross movement. It could not be pulled out. The only way for a hungry beaver to get it would be to enter the pen and cut it off and in doing this he could hardly fail of stepping in the trap. Then he would drown miserably under the ice. The part left sticking out beyond the pen was by way of a teaser. It would be the first part touched by the animal and would undoubtedly be cut off close to the pen. Having had a taste of the fresh green bark and no harm having come from it the animal would unsuspectingly enter the pen to secure the remainder, whereas with the bait wholly within the pen in the first place the animal would be suspicious and wary of entering. It was all very simple, clever and diabolical.
Sparrer's first impulse was to spring the trap, but on second thought he decided to leave it alone. It might well be that his discovery were better unknown. His life in New York streets had taught him that it is possible to know too much; that some things are better forgotten as soon as learned. He recalled what had been said about the illegality of trapping beaver. If Pat and Alec were doing a little quiet poaching it was none of his business. They would not thank him for interfering. Of course the trap must be theirs. There was no one else trapping in the Hollow. The poachers there had been so much talk about were working miles beyond the Hollow, on the long line. He remembered now that neither Pat nor Alec had once suggested a trip up this way. Good reason. They wanted to avoid any embarrassing questions about those queer little mounds, for he knew now that each one covered a trap-pan. The boughs and the snow were to keep the holes from freezing over. He counted the mounds. There were three at one house and four at the other.
"Youse better cover this up and make yer get-away while the going's good," he muttered as he replaced the boughs and packed the snow over them until the mound was as nearly as he had found it as it was possible to make it. Then he made a hasty examination of the houses. The snow was melted on the tops of the two around which the traps were set, sure sign that they were inhabited. This was caused by the warm air from the interior escaping through the air holes which are always left in the top of a beaver house. The third was solidly crusted over, a reasonably sure indication that it was abandoned.
Having satisfied his curiosity Sparrer started back to the dam and followed it to the woods on the farther shore. He had intended to go straight across the pond to the second dam, but his discovery of the traps had aroused his sense of caution and he decided that it would be better to keep to the woods. On the broad white expanse of the pond he would be altogether too conspicuous should it happen that curious eyes were watching. As he skirted the shore of the pond through the brush his thoughts were so busy with his discovery that for the time being he quite forgot to keep an eye out for rabbit signs. The illegality of this attempt to catch beaver in a closed season did not impress him at first. He had had nothing to do with game and game laws. They were entirely outside his range of experience. In fact, he failed utterly to grasp the purpose back of the laws and like a great many others he regarded them as a restriction of individual liberty, and a violation as of no very great moment. They were to him very much as the "keep off the grass" signs in the city park.
So it was no shock to the boy to think that his new idol, Pat, should be breaking a law for which he could see no reason. But what did give him a shock was the method employed. This outraged his strong sense of fair play. "It's hitting 'em below de belt. Dey ain't got a chance in de world," he kept saying over and over to himself. "Dey finds de food right by dere houses under de ice where dey ain't looking for no foul blow, and dey helps demselves and gits a knockout widout a show." He could overlook the breaking of the law because it held no meaning for him, but it was hard to reconcile this flagrant outrage on fairness with what he knew of Pat.
"Maybe Alec's doing it on de side and Pat don't know nothin' about it," he thought, and with this comforting reflection he felt better. As he tramped on his thoughts grew clearer. He recalled Alec's strong assertion that he was for protecting beaver. If Alec had been sincere this eliminated him, and Pat had not been away from the cabin unattended since they arrived. Moreover the traps had been set since the last snow, and that fact effectually disposed of both Pat and Alec. As he realized this Sparrer gave vent to a low whistle. "It's some other mugs, as sure as shootin'!" he exclaimed. "Bet it's de same guys dat killed de deer, and Pat an' Alec don't know nothin' about it." He paused, undecided whether to go back or keep on, but a moment's reflection decided him. Pat and Alec were out on the trap lines, and would not be back until dark. He would keep on and have his hunt. The news would keep until he got back.
But this new-born certainty that there were others in the Hollow gave him an uncomfortable feeling and he decided that he would keep as much away from the open as possible. For this reason as he approached the second dam he was content to look at it from the screen of brush. It was similar to the first, but smaller, and there were no houses in the pond above. The third dam was but a short distance above and this was the smallest of the three. Beyond this lay the swamp where he hoped to find the rabbits. That his nerves were jumpy he realized by the way he started at every unexpected sound. The grinding of one tree against another, even an unusually loud clack of his own snow-shoes, made his heart jump. Once he could have sworn that he heard a stick snap behind him, and for a full two minutes he stood listening. But he heard nothing further and nothing moved within his range of vision. Charging it up to an overwrought imagination and chiding himself for a silly chump he moved on.
Presently he discovered fresh rabbit sign, and this drove everything else out of his head. Slowly he moved forward, his rifle cocked and ready. Profiting by his experience with Pat the day before he scanned every little irregularity in the surface of the snow with suspicious eyes. Presently he discovered a little mound ahead of him and a bit to one side of the path he was following. It seemed to Sparrer that it was if anything a trifle whiter than the surrounding snow. Study it as he would, to his untrained eyes it bore no resemblance to an animal. But presently he noticed two dark spots, and it flashed over him that they were eyes, intently watching him. Slowly he started to raise his rifle, but at the first movement the white mound dissolved into a long legged animal which bounded behind a stump and was gone before he could get his gun to his shoulder.
Disappointed, but resolved that the next one should not get the jump on him Sparrer kept on. Sign was plentiful everywhere, and his hopes ran high. So fearful was he of another rabbit's repeating the surprise of the first one that as he stole forward he kept his gun at his shoulder, until at last he was forced to lower it from sheer weariness. But in spite of his care and watchfulness he saw no more game and at last sat down on an old log to rest. He was tired and if the truth be known somewhat discouraged. He was too new at the hunting game to realize that his was no more than the usual experience of the hunter and that his chances of success, if no better, were no worse than in the beginning.