"We are hunters brave and bold,And fear not wind or cold—When seeking game.Big birds look out, and small ones fly away;Wise bears and wolves won't join the fray—For Hacky's after game."
"We are hunters brave and bold,And fear not wind or cold—When seeking game.Big birds look out, and small ones fly away;Wise bears and wolves won't join the fray—For Hacky's after game."
"We are hunters brave and bold,
And fear not wind or cold—
When seeking game.
Big birds look out, and small ones fly away;
Wise bears and wolves won't join the fray—
For Hacky's after game."
Nat improvised these lines, his old-time spirit reasserting itself.
"Rah, rah—yi, yi—bing, bang, boom!" joined in Hackett, lustily. "And I'm going to get some game, too. Don't you forget it."
Soon a stretch of pine woods was reached. It grew thicker and thicker, until the blue sky was almost shut from view. Underbrush and trailing vines were in profusion.
The wind had piled up great drifts of snow, and occasionally the heavy sleds had to be dragged around a fallen tree.
From a dense thicket came the harsh, rasping cry of the blue jay, while a noisy flock of crows flitted among the trees.
In places, the snow was covered with the tracks of animals and birds.
"There have been dozens of rabbits around here," asserted Bob. "And look—sure as I live—the trail of a fox."
"A fox?" echoed the others. "How do you know?"
"Because the footprints are almost in a straight line, and you can see the marks of the claws in front."
"My eye! I only wish I could get a shot at him," burst out Hackett, looking eagerly around, as if he expected to see a dozen foxes running to cover.
"Thought nothing would satisfy you but a wildcat or deer, Hacky," laughed Nat.
"A fox will do for a starter. After that, Tommy Clifton must help me rout out a big, black bear from his cave," grinned John.
"Oh, I say, fellows," broke in Dick Travers, "somebody take this sled; I'm fagged out."
"So am I," puffed Tom Clifton.
"And it's the same here," added Sam.
The three boys were relieved.
Maple and hickory trees were now interspersed with the dark hemlocks and cedars, and the patches of sky between the trees grew larger. The woods were rapidly becoming more open.
"We ought to come to the river pretty soon, Somers," observed Hackett, as they paused on a ridge which overlooked a steep descent.
"Unless we do, it may mean that—"
The rest of the sentence was interrupted in a most startling fashion.
The snow upon which they were standing suddenly gave way beneath their weight. With cries of dismay, Bob Somers, John Hackett and Dick Travers wildly grasped at the empty air. Then, before their astonished companions could make a move to aid them, they shot downward, accompanied by an avalanche of snow.
The surface was smooth and icy, and the efforts of the boys to stay their progress were in vain. Huge masses of snow swept with them down the hill. Bob Somers felt the cold air rush past his face. He had a confused vision of bushes flying swiftly by, then he shot over the edge of a hillock, and dropped with a thud upon the other side.
Breathless and excited, he made another effort to stop his downward plunge. For a moment, it was partially checked, but the tumbling snow almost instantly tore him away from his hold.
Long John Hackett and Dick Travers were considerably in advance. Their startled cries had been silenced, and like Bob Somers, they were helpless upon the smooth, slippery surface of the hill.
A long line of bushes stretched across just below.
John Hackett escaped them by a few feet, but Dick Travers crashed into their midst and came to an abrupt halt.
A moment later, Bob brought up against him with an impact that made both wince.
"I say, Dick, are you hurt?" he gasped, excitedly, as soon as he could find his voice.
"Whew, I'm too dizzy to know. You nearly knocked the last bit of breath out of me. My face is scratched to pieces."
"And—wow—how my ear stings. I'm sore all over."
"But we are mighty lucky to get off so easily," said Dick. "I wonder how old Hacky has fared."
"I hope he's all right. Say, my head spins like a top. Here come the rest of the fellows. I'll bet they are scared."
Both boys rose slowly and painfully to their feet. They were much jarred and bruised, but, fortunately, no serious damage had resulted.
"Hello, Hacky!" yelled Bob.
An answering hail came from below.
"He must be all right," said Dick, joyfully. "There he is—away down at the bottom of the hill."
"Are you hurt, fellows?" came a cry.
The other boys were making their way down the smooth, treacherous surface as fast as they dared.
"Not a bit of it!" yelled Bob. "Let's see about Hackett."
Without waiting for the others, he started down the incline, this time in an orderly fashion. Dick Travers followed him.
They found the tall boy busily engaged in brushing the snow off his clothes.
"Are you hurt, Hacky?" inquired Dick, anxiously.
"If my arm doesn't turn black and blue, I'm mistaken," growled John. "I got about eighty-seven jolts on the back of my neck, forty on the shoulders, and nearly broke my leg, besides. You fellows all right? That's good. What dunces we were to stand on such a bank. Anyway, I found out something."
"What's that?"
"Don't you see there's a little creek close here? And it goes in our direction, too—eh, Somers?"
"You're right," returned Bob, with a glance in the direction indicated. "Skating will be good for a change."
The rest of the boys now came up and were delighted to see that their friends were safe and sound.
"I move that we have something to eat," said Dave.
His proposition met with general favor, and three of the boys went after the sleds. In due course, they returned, and did full justice to the lunch which Silas Riggs had put up. It was rather cold fare, but all decided that it was better to push on as fast as possible.
"Somebody may be using that house 'Old' Silas spoke about," said Nat; "and, in that case, we'll have to build a camp."
In a short time the march was resumed.
The creek was found to be narrow and winding, but the wind had blown its surface comparatively free from snow.
"Now we'll make some speed," said Sam, as he unstrapped his snow-shoes. "Look out for air holes and thin places, fellows."
The crisp whirr of seven pairs of skates was soon ringing out, and the three victims of the snowslide almost forgot their aches and pains in the enjoyment of the sport.
"Great, isn't it?" grinned Hackett, cutting a letter S. "Anybody want to race?"
"Not to-day, my boy," said Bob. "Guess you've got us there."
Grim, dark trees hung over the watercourse, their interlacing branches covered with snow. Occasionally, boughs, still full of dull yellow leaves—like a touch of autumn in the bleak winter landscape, added brightness to the scene.
"Must be lots of minks, otter and beavers along these banks," declared Bob. "They live in just this kind of place."
"We'll make old Sladder open his eyes when we get back with a load of skins," exclaimed John Hackett. "The cheek of him to ask if we knew anything about hunting. Bang! I can hardly wait."
"The wildcats are going to catch it, fellows," drawled Tommy Clifton.
"Right you are, little boy," grinned Hackett. "And don't forget that bear you're going to help me find."
Nat began to show signs of fatigue, and soon a halt was made.
"Maybe we had better not try to reach the lake to-night," said Bob.
"Oh, pshaw! I can stand it, Somers," returned Nat. "A few minutes' rest will fix me up all right."
Suddenly a shout from Hackett, who had gone on ahead, attracted their attention. He had disappeared around a bend, but now came skating back.
"The river's just ahead, fellows," he cried. "Anything the matter, Nat?"
"No, I feel first-rate," returned Nat, rising to his feet. "Fellows, I believe this trip will fix me up all right."
"Of course it will," said Hackett, enthusiastically. "Say—we ought to reach Lake Wolverine pretty soon, now."
"I hope so—I'm half frozen," put in Tom Clifton; "a big fire and some hot coffee—"
"Um—um!" interrupted Dave Brandon; "and a pan of nice bacon, and baked potatoes, eh?"
"I can't listen to such talk and sit still," laughed Nat. "I believe it's getting colder," he added. "We'll feel it more on the river, too."
The mouth of the creek was soon reached, and with long, steady strides, the boys pushed on. Occasionally they insisted upon stopping to give Nat a rest, and it was not until after two o'clock that the sight of a broad expanse, gleaming in the sunlight straight ahead, brought forth a rousing cheer.
"Hurrah!" cried Bob Somers, "Lake Wolverine."
"Now for the cabin that old Riggs told us about," cried Nat.
They redoubled their exertions, skating close to the eastern shore. All were delighted with the surroundings of the lake. There was a picturesque combination of rugged hills and valleys, and they felt that in such a wild country plenty of game must be found.
"There's the cabin—straight ahead," cried Bob. "Look, Chubby, right in front of those firs!"
"You are right, Bob! And it's a sight I'm glad to see. Hurry up."
The stout boy and John Hackett started ahead in a lively fashion.
"Go it, Chubby!" yelled Bob. "Show him what you are made of!"
Dave needed no bidding. Bending forward, he skimmed swiftly over the ice, and when they came opposite the cabin Hackett led by only a few feet.
"Whew!" puffed Dave. "It warms a fellow up a bit. That's a pretty solid-looking house, 'Hatchet.'"
The cabin was built of logs and stood some distance from the edge of the lake, and near the base of a steep hill. It was partly surrounded by a group of tall cedars.
Dave and Hackett crossed the intervening patch of snow, their skates crunching through the hard crust. The latter tried the door, while Dave peered in through a window.
He uttered an exclamation of disappointment.
"Somebody is living here," he said. "There's a lot of dishes and stuff on a table. It means that we'll have to build a camp, after all."
"And it would have been such a bully place to stay," said Hackett, giving the door a spiteful kick.
"Well, there's no help for it," put in Bob, who had come up. "You can see the snow is freshly trampled."
"Wonder who they can be."
"Most likely hunters."
"Well, what are we going to do?" asked Sam Randall.
"Why, cross the lake, of course—if Nat doesn't mind."
"Oh, I'm not tired out yet, Somers," protested Nat. "Certainly we'll get over on the other side, and have a camp to ourselves, eh, Hacky?"
"Right you are! Face about—forward march!"
"It's time you exercised your muscle again on one of these sleds, Hackett," complained Dick Travers.
"Oh, I forgot! Really, my little tired-out friend, I forgot," grinned Hackett, seizing the rope.
"I don't call this any picnic," observed Sam, as they headed for the opposite shore.
"Nor I, either," said Tom. "We get the full force of the wind—cracky, my feet are getting like lumps of ice."
In spite of their hard traveling, the boys kept up a good pace, and soon the opposite shore began to assume definite form. It was hilly and well wooded.
"We had better divide up in two parties," suggested Bob; "we ought to strike a place quicker that way."
"All right," said Dick. "Come on, Bob and Chubby; let's see what we can find."
Skates were quickly removed, the sleds drawn up on shore and the two parties set out.
Bob, Dick Travers and Dave Brandon kept in a southerly direction, while the others pushed north.
"Any number of good places around here," exclaimed the stout boy, after a short search. "There's one, right by that clump of pines."
"Hello—hello!" came a faint hail from the distance.
"It's Hackett," said Dave, as they turned and saw a dark figure on the edge of the lake waving his arms.
"They must have found a good place."
"Hello!" yelled the distant figure again. "Dandy place."
This was all they could make out, but it was enough.
The three boys hurried forward.
In the course of a few minutes, hauling the sleds after them, they rejoined the others.
"We'll show you a dandy place," cried Nat; "the finest you ever saw."
He led them around a wooded ridge, where they found, between this and another ridge, a bowl-shaped valley. On one side, the hill sloped gently down to the shore of the lake.
"Isn't this a place for you, though?" asked Nat.
"You were lucky to come across it," declared Bob; "and it's sheltered from the northwest wind."
"Plenty of trees—maples and spruce—just the thing for our camp."
"And no fear of a snowslide," put in Dave; "the hill isn't steep enough for that. There's only one thing—"
"What is that, Chubby?"
"A thaw might make it unpleasant."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Hackett. "Why, it's getting colder—twice as cold every other minute. Let's fall to, fellows, and build a fire."
Several of the boys unpacked a box of provisions, while Sam Randall, Tom Clifton and Dick Travers began to collect fire-wood. Armed with hatchets, they quickly got enough to start a blaze.
As the flames began to roar and crackle, more wood was piled on, and the hungry and tired boys gathered around to warm their benumbed hands and feet.
"I'm going to have a cup of coffee," said Dave.
"That's the idea, Chubby."
"And why not roast some potatoes?"
"And what's the matter with a bit of bacon?"
"Right you are, boys! Let's get to work," said Bob.
Hunger spurred them on. In a few minutes, potatoes were roasting, and bacon hissing and sizzling before the fire.
Hackett went off with an axe, chopped a hole through the ice and dipped up enough water for the coffee.
When the meal was ready, the boys eagerly helped themselves, then took places around the cheerful fire and were content.
"We have a big job ahead of us," declared Bob Somers, when every scrap of food had vanished.
"I believe it," said Dave, with half closed eyes.
"The huts ought to be built before dark; it means a hustle."
"Build 'em, then, an'—" the stout boy was nodding.
"Hi, hi! Hey, bing, bang, boom—rah—rah! No sleeping yet, Chubby. Wake up!"
"Let a fellow alone, can't you? Build em—stop!"
"Oh, yes, we will leave you alone! Oh, yes—and two huts to build."
"Only five minutes," pleaded Dave. "I feel uncommonly sleepy. I do, indeed! Let up, won't you?"
"Very sorry, old boy," said Bob; "but we are going to clear away the fire and build it in another place. Better wake up and help in this job, or we may have a pretty rough night of it."
With a very great effort, Dave Brandon arose.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked, with a prodigious yawn.
"Get the fire shoved over to this place I have marked," said Bob, indicating a spot about ten feet distant. "Just as soon as the ground is thawed, we'll have to dig four holes for the corner posts."
"Just think, we've got two of these old dens to build," grumbled John Hackett.
"Oh, never mind," said Nat. "I'm going to help, and we'll consider that it's a fine evening of sport."
Encouraged by these words, the tired boys set to work.
"In the first place, we'll need a lot of slender maples for the sides and roof," said Bob; "and any quantity of fir brush."
"I'm going to select trees for the posts," declared Sam Randall. "These huts are going to be built in a hurry, I can tell you that."
In a few moments, the sound of the young woodsmen's sturdy blows were being carried over the frosty air. As fast as the trees were felled, Tom Clifton trimmed off the branches. Then Dick Travers and Sam Randall began to gather the fir brush until an enormous pile was ready for use.
All hands worked steadily, in spite of their fatigue.
"On a camping trip, a fellow can't expect to stop just because he's tired," declared Bob; "he must be willing to work hard and run up against all kind of snags."
"You bet!" agreed Sam; "and getting half frozen, on a winter trip, and half starved besides."
"Guess we've got enough work to last till midnight," observed Dave Brandon, cheerfully.
"Is that ground getting thawed out?" inquired Bob.
"It's ready for anybody except the poet laureate to begin digging," laughed the other. "Start right in, Sam Randall, or it will get frozen up again."
"It's not going to be an easy job," said Bob. "We'll all take turns."
"And we don't want the huts to get bowled over by the first puff of wind," added Tommy Clifton.
"That's so, little one," said John Hackett, patronizingly; "I'll bet we strike some of the worst gales that were ever heard of. It's getting pretty brisk now, and we may be out in it until about three o'clock to-morrow morning. Give me a spade, and I'll show you something fast in the way of digging."
Hackett found that he was going to have a hard task to live up to his boast, but he stuck bravely at it, assisted by Bob Somers and Sam Randall.
"What comes next, Bob?" asked Tommy Clifton.
"I'll show you. First, I want four stout poles for the corners."
Bob Somers selected the heaviest maples, which had been cut to a suitable length. They were solid and heavy, and required the combined strength of several boys to lift into place.
"Ram them down as hard as possible," said Bob. "Then fill up the hole and bank them all around. Wet the earth as you pack it in. When it gets hard, it ought to hold like a vise."
"Well, it's going to hold that one, I can tell you," declared Sam Randall, as they lifted the first pole, and brought it down with a bang.
Hackett began to throw in the earth. "But it's fierce work, though," he grumbled; "and a lot more to do."
Bob laughed. "Stick it out, Hacky," he said; "you'll forget all about the backache by this time next week."
"It would be better to leave the other hut until to-morrow," suggested Nat. "We can all crowd into one—it's only for a night, you know."
"I guess that's the best plan."
"Won't it be awful cold in there, Bob?" asked Tom Clifton.
"Not when it's banked up with snow. The hardest part of the work is yet to come."
"You mean putting on the fir brush," spoke up Tom Clifton. "Oh, that's easy enough."
"Time to talk about that when the framework is up," said John Hackett, with a laugh. "Don't make a mistake and put the brush on first."
When the four posts had been planted, the rear ones being higher, so as to give the roof a slope, others were placed across the tops and securely fastened. This was done by means of nails and ropes.
"So much for that," said Bob, in a tone of satisfaction. "Now, a lot of poles must be placed about a foot apart all around the sides and on the roof. Pitch in, fellows—stick 'em up, and be sure to leave space enough for a door."
When the framework was completed, Bob and his assistants surveyed their handiwork with pride.
"Fir brush lies pretty flat," said Bob, at length. "Begin at the bottom, boys, and weave it between the poles. Then push it down as tight as possible."
"Correct," said Hackett. "Go up front."
The boys worked rapidly, packing the brush so closely that not a crevice was visible. It required patience, but the knowledge that it would be their only shelter for the night spurred them on. When the four walls were completed, they presented quite a substantial appearance.
"Looks great," commented Bob. "We'll have a fine camp. Better get some more brush; it takes a lot of it."
Dick Travers and Tom Clifton volunteered for the task, and work was resumed. Sam Randall and Hackett began to brace the sides with stout poles, and when this was done, they proceeded to bank the snow all around, beating it down with the backs of their shovels until it formed a compact mass.
Bob Somers and Nat, who insisted on helping, got on the roof, while Dave Brandon kept them well supplied with fir brush. The two worked with great care, beginning at the front, and being sure that each lot they put on overlapped that which was underneath.
"It will be a good, tight roof, Nat," remarked Bob, with satisfaction.
"And the snow around the sides ought to make it warm as toast."
"Rather have this than a ready made cabin any day—or night, either," grinned Nat. "There, Somers—when we make the roof a bit snug where it joins the wall, our work is done."
"And a good job, too," commented Dave Brandon from below.
All now began to assist in piling up the snow, notwithstanding the gathering gloom. But the twilight, ere long, had almost given way to darkness. The opposite shore of the lake was lost to view, while toward the west a sombre hillside rose against a greenish gray sky.
"Too dark to see," sang out Dick Travers, finally.
"We'll have supper, and put on a few finishing touches by firelight," said Bob.
"That's where you're right—no more work for me, until I get something to eat," added Dave. "It's another 'undeniable fact.'"
Fuel was heaped upon the fire, and cooking begun. Higher and higher rose the flames, lighting up in a fantastic fashion the group of boys, the snowy landscape and queer-looking hut in the foreground. Shadows danced and chased each other over the ground, light gleamed for an instant on distant objects, then vanished to sparkle again elsewhere.
Refreshed by supper, the boys piled several logs on the fire and resumed work, adding whatever they thought necessary to make their dwelling secure and tight. The door was closed by strips of heavy canvas.
"This is a neat job, Hacky," said Nat. "Don't know just what kind of architecture you'd call it—never saw anything quite so queer-looking in my life—but I'll bet it is going to be comfortable, and that's all we want."
It was not until after nine o'clock that the weary workers ceased their labors. But, despite aching arms and tired backs, each regarded the odd-shaped structure with much satisfaction.
"It would take one of Silas Riggs' blizzards to blow it over," remarked Sam Randall.
"And two of them to wake me up, to-night," yawned Dave.
"Let's throw a bit of brush inside, spread out blankets and turn in," said John Hackett.
"Tired out, Hacky?" laughed Nat.
"Of course not—nowhere near it. I'll bet I could give any fellow in the crowd fifty feet start and beat him across the lake," and Hackett's eyes sparkled with indignation at the thought of his endurance having been questioned.
The boys hung a lantern from the ceiling, and as the light revealed the cozy interior, broke into a hearty cheer.
"Not many could beat this job," declared Bob Somers; "eh, Chubby?"
"Say—but I am tired," was Dave's response. "Good thing we have sleeping-bags and plenty of blankets. Going to be a tight squeeze, though," he added.
"You take one-half of the hut, and the rest of us the other," said Bob, humorously. "Here's my place, right where I'm standing."
Rubber blankets were spread over the fragrant fir brush, the sleeping-bags were put on those, and one by one, the boys lay down. Soon there was silence, save for the fire, the glowing embers of which occasionally cracked with a sharp report.
But it was not for long. Bob sat up.
"Wow—say, fellows, I'm nearly frozen. Got a trunk load of blankets on, too."
"And I can't sleep for the cold, either," groaned Dave.
"It feels like the arctic regions," said Tom Clifton, in muffled tones. "My feet are like lumps of ice."
"And I'm nearly frozen," growled Hackett. "How about you, Nat?"
"Feel like a snow man—and that's no joke."
"Perhaps we'll get warm in a few minutes. Let's try it again," put in Sam.
The boys lay very still, and silence again reigned.
"Fellows, it's no use." Dave leaned on his elbow. "I—I can't sleep." His teeth were chattering.
"Nor I."
"What are we going to do? We haven't any more blankets."
"Yes—what are we going to do?"
Little Tom Clifton's voice was so despairing that the other boys broke into a hearty laugh.
"I think I know what's the matter," said Bob, suddenly. "We're a lot of dunces."
"Why—how?"
"The cold strikes up from the ground. No matter how much stuff we pile on top of us, we couldn't get warm. The brush beds ought to be about three times as thick."
"I believe you are right. I do hate to think of getting up—still—guess there's no help for it," and Dave, with many groans and sighs, eased himself to his feet, the others following.
The air outside was sharp and piercing, the stars shone with great brilliancy, and the landscape wore a dreary, desolate appearance.
With chattering teeth, the boys approached the big pile of fir brush which had been left over, and began to gather it up. Trip after trip they made, working swiftly, and occasionally stopping to swing their arms.
"That ought to do," said Bob, when the floor had been covered to a depth of a foot and a half.
"It will have to do."
"Will I ever be warm again?" sighed Tom Clifton.
They resumed their places, and again there was silence.
This time, their repose was not broken until the cheerful rays of the morning sun flooded the landscape.
"Hi—hi—hey! It's half-past nine; wake up! Hi—hi!"
Bob Somers uttered these words in a manner which made his companions hastily sit up.
"What's the use of making such an awful racket, Bob? I feel uncommonly sleepy," and the stout boy immediately sank back and closed his eyes.
Little Tom Clifton, however, hastily jumped to his feet.
"Had a dandy night, after all," he said, cheerfully. "Whew, but it's cold," he added, drawing back the canvas flap and peering out. "Those chaps are still asleep."
"Let's stir around and get the fire going, anyway," said Bob. "I'm more than ready for breakfast."
The fire-wood was almost expended, so the two boys got vigorously to work. The sound of their hatchets soon aroused the other occupants of the hut, who had gone to sleep again.
"Hello," said Nat. "I thought it was still last night."
"You mean to-morrow morning," put in Hackett. "My eye, it's nearly ten o'clock. Make that fire howl—will you, Somers? I hate to think of getting up."
"So do I," grinned Nat.
"You fellows talk so much I can't sleep," grumbled Dave.
"It's ten o'clock! Did you catch that?—t-e-n o'clock!"
"Wouldn't care if it was twelve," and Dave snuggled under the covers again.
In a short time, all but the stout boy had gathered around the fire, and it was not until another half hour had passed that he appeared, blinking and yawning.
"Thought you fellows might eat all the breakfast," he said.
"I'm sorry we didn't—so as to teach you a lesson," returned Bob.
When the meal was over, all hands set to work on the second hut, and when lunch time arrived, it was well under way.
In the early afternoon, Bob Somers, accompanied by Sam and Dick, set off. They ascended the hill, which was thickly wooded, making their way around the underbrush and huge snow-drifts.
At the top, they paused to look around. A succession of rolling hills stretched off to the limits of view. In the grip of the snow king, the country looked barren and wild. Here and there a tree higher than its neighbors outlined its black, gaunt limbs against the sky.
"Looks kind of desolate, eh?" remarked Bob, as they began descending a gentle incline.
"Don't make much noise, fellows," he cautioned, "or we'll scare the rabbits away."
"We ought to strike bigger game than that," said Sam; "and there's a hawk on the hunt for something, too."
He waved his hand toward a bird soaring far above.
Soon the base of the hill was reached, and they kept on through a thickly timbered valley.
"Rabbit tracks everywhere, yet we haven't had a glimpse of one," said Bob.
"It only needs a little patience. A good hunter always has that."
"Hello, there goes a rabbit!" sang out Dick, suddenly.
From behind a mass of bushes the animal leaped, then over a fallen tree to an open stretch, across which it dashed.
Dick quickly raised his gun. A sharp report rang out, and the rabbit fell in its tracks.
"Hurrah!" shouted Dick. "Not bad for the first crack."
Bang—bang!
Bob Somers and Sam Randall had fired almost simultaneously.
Another long-eared bunny fell a victim to their aim, while a third dashed off and disappeared in the bushes.
"And whopping big fellows, too," said Dick, enthusiastically, as he picked one up and held it aloft. "'Hatchet' brags so much about his shooting. He'll find that he isn't the only one."
A quarter of an hour more found the boys again ascending. Here and there, the ground was strewn with boulders of enormous size. Above them the rugged line of the hill was silhouetted against the clear blue sky.
As they toiled slowly up, a most unexpected and astonishing sight suddenly met the boys' gaze. It set their nerves tingling with excitement.
Not a hundred feet distant, at the top of the hill, there appeared a magnificent buck. For an instant, his dark, graceful form and spreading antlers were clearly defined. His head swung quickly around, then he wheeled about, and vanished on the other side before the surprised hunters could make a move.
"Did you ever see such a beauty?" exclaimed Dick, in great excitement.
"Let's make a sprint for it."
"If we could only get a shot at him," said Sam, longingly.
In headlong pursuit, at a speed which would have seemed impossible a few moments before, they dashed up the slope. Strategy, for the moment, was forgotten.
Breathing hard, the boys reached the place where the buck had been.
"Look at his tracks, fellows!" cried Bob. "He went off right toward those woods."
"We may get a shot at him yet."
"Don't believe there's any chance of it."
"Come on, anyway!" exclaimed Sam Randall.
The boys had no difficulty in following the tracks, but the sad realization that their efforts would lead to nothing soon forced itself upon them.
"I can't keep up this gait," gasped Sam, his tones evincing the greatest disappointment.
"Neither can I," said Bob.
"It's a little worse than missing a train," added Dick, dolefully.
"I should say so. Shall we keep up the chase?"
"If he has taken to the open, we might get a sight of him," replied Bob; "that is in the distance."
So the boys pushed on, the trail leading in and out among the trees. The woods grew more dense, and as there were no signs of its coming to an end, a halt was soon made.
"Have to leave it for another time, fellows," said Bob. "Wait until we get to hunting in earnest."
"A good rabbit stew just now would be better than a wild buck chase," grinned Sam, who had recovered from his disappointment. "Let's hurry back and start some cooking."
They had wandered further from camp than any had imagined, and all three were thoroughly tired and cold when the gray expanse of lake appeared in view. It was reached at a point much above their camping ground, and a long, weary walk ensued. The wind, too, had sprung up and blew in their faces with unpleasant force.
At length the boys rounded a hill and came in view of the camp.
"Hello!" said Bob. "It's deserted—fellows must be off on a hunt."
"Guess they're not very far away," put in Sam, as he slung his game-bag down in front of the hut.
"Say—somebody has been amusing himself," remarked Sam Randall, rather abruptly, pointing toward the base of the hill.
On the perfectly smooth blanket of snow, the boys saw a number of markings of such odd forms as to suggest Egyptian hieroglyphics.
"Perhaps Nat made them," observed Bob, breaking into a laugh.
The group walked toward the queer characters.
"Whoever did these must have puzzled his head trying to think up funny shapes," put in Sam, with a grin. "We'll find out who's responsible when the fellows get back."
The Ramblers had supper under way, when voices and the sound of feet crunching over the snow announced the return of the others.
"Any luck?" queried Bob. "We got a couple of rabbits."
"And I dropped a partridge," said Hackett, proudly exhibiting the bird. "A mighty hard shot it was, too."
"What did you get, Chubby?"
"Cold hands, cold feet, and an awful appetite."
"Hello, who's been scratching up the snow?" exclaimed Nat. "Did you do that, Somers?"
"No! We thought it was your work, Nat."
Nat grinned. "Don't try to tell me anything like that," he said. "They weren't there when we left camp."
"That's a sure thing," broke in Tom Clifton, earnestly.
"Honest, Bob—none of us were near that snow."
"Well, we didn't do it either;" and Bob spoke in such a tone as to leave no doubt of his sincerity.
"Who did it, then?"
There was an interval of silence, which John Hackett broke by remarking, "Those people across the lake may have come over and finding no one here thought they would amuse themselves a bit."
This seemed a perfectly reasonable solution of the matter, so the boys dismissed it from further consideration.
Twilight came, then night enveloped the scene. A moderate breeze fanned the fire, until huge, leaping tongues of flame sent out a glow of heat.
But even under these conditions it was not easy to keep warm. The boys stood with their backs to the fire, then faced it, then turned sideways, but always with that uncomfortable feeling of being roasted on one side, and, oh, so cold on the other.
"Never thought I had a chance to get that bird," Hackett was saying. "It was making a bee-line for the woods—you know how fast they fly—well, I just raised my gun, and—"
He was interrupted in a most startling fashion.
A snowball—nothing more or less than a nice, round snowball—made in the most approved schoolboy fashion, suddenly flew from out of the darkness and fell in their midst. It struck the ground and broke into a dozen fragments.
Then came another—and another. The coffee-pot, struck squarely in the centre, toppled over into the fire and poured forth its lamentations in a great cloud of hissing steam, while the boys looked at each other in the greatest wonder.
"Why, what, which—" cried Hackett, looking wildly in the direction from which the missiles came. "Must be those fellows again."
"We'll show them they can't frighten us!" burst out Bob.
Just as he spoke, a ball of the feathery particles sizzled through the air, struck him forcibly on the shoulder, and splattered in his face.
"Just a bit of a lark, I guess!" cried Bob, "but it shouldn't be so one-sided. Come on, fellows!"
With one accord, they dashed through the snow, which, though the night was dark, could be plainly seen. In a moment, they reached the base of the hill, and rounded the other side.
Nothing there—but a wild expanse of nature, melting into gloom, gaunt trees and underbrush—nothing but night and an icy wind sighing through the tree-tops and making the bushes shiver and rattle.
"My eye! This is funny," cried Hackett, scratching his head.
"Christopher! It's the strangest yet," panted Nat. "Where did he get to—or where did they get to?"
"That's what we would like to know," said little Tom Clifton.
"An axiom," observed Dave, "is a self-evident fact."
"Did an axiom make the snowballs, fire 'em over, and plunk Somers in the face?" grinned Hackett.
"No, but somebody did, which is the axiom I mean."
"Hi—hi!" yelled Hackett. "Come out and show yourself—come up and toast yourself. You must be nearly frozen out there!"
Nothing but silence followed the echo of Hackett's voice.
"This certainly is funny," said Bob.
"That's what we all said before, my boy," observed Dick. "It must be those campers on the other side, as Hackett says."
"Well, they have cleared out, and we might as well get back to the fire," said Nat.
"Must be a lot of jokers around these parts," ventured Tom Clifton.
"Now they have had their fun, why don't they come out, and show themselves?" added Sam Randall.
There was no answer to this—and for obvious reasons.
So they tramped toward the fire, which flashed between the trees like a beacon, discussing the singular affair, with the rather unpleasant feeling that any minute a snowball might land upon the back of somebody's neck.
Logs were piled on the blaze, and the unfortunate coffee-pot refilled.
Very wisely, after some discussion, the boys decided to let time solve the mystery, so they told stories and kept on trying to warm the side which was always cold.
Occasionally from the woods came the hoot of an owl, or over the lake the weird cry of a loon.
Hackett was kindly allowed to finish the story of his prowess, after which, whether the result of his tale or not, there was an amazing amount of yawning and stretching.
"Oh, ho, even if it is only half-past eight, I'm going to turn in," announced Dave. "Good-night, fellows."
"Think I will, too," declared Sam.
"We can get up early and put in a good day to-morrow," added Nat.
"And get a shot at something worth while," commented Hackett. "Just let some of you fellows feel what buck fever is like."
"What is it like, 'Hatchet'?" asked Tom.
"Who said I ever had it? I'll take my chances with the next one—and don't you forget it."
"Did you ever see a deer outside of a wire fence?"
"My eye! But you do ask a lot of silly questions. Just let me draw a bead on one, eh, Nat?"
"That's right, Hacky," grinned Nat, as he started for the hut.
It did not take the rest of the fellows long to follow his example. Within a few minutes, the fire was deserted, and each had retired to his bed of fir brush.
It seemed to little Tom Clifton that he had been asleep but an instant, when he was awakened by the sound of voices and the tread of feet. The boy felt a strange sort of thrill run through him. With beating heart, he listened intently.
"Maybe somebody is going to play another joke on us," he thought. Then another idea suggested itself, which gave him an unpleasant start. "Perhaps the newcomers had a more serious object in view."
But while he was speculating on the possibilities, a sound close to the hut made him sit upright. An animal was plainly sniffing around.
The next instant, Tom was terrified to see the canvas flap pushed back, and a huge head thrust inside. To his excited imagination, it looked more like a bear than anything else, and, with a startled cry, he threw off the blankets and rose tremblingly to his feet.
Bob and Dave Brandon started up just as a deep bay from the huge animal seemed to make the very interior shake.
"Great Cæsar!"
"By Jingo, what's this?"
The two boys were on their feet in an instant, while the animal, with another tremendous bay, hastily withdrew its head.
"It's only a dog!" cried Bob, beginning to laugh.
Before the camp-fire, which, piled high with fuel, was springing into life again, stood two dark figures, who viewed with unconcern the precipitous exit of seven boys from two huts.
The big animal had rushed to one side, where its eyes shone like two orbs of green light from the darkness.
"Hello!" exclaimed one of the strangers.