A LUCKY SHOT.
Boxy was about to say something, but Harry quickly placed his hand over
his companion’s mouth and motioned him to remain silent.
Then he raised his gun, and pointed to Boxy to do the same.
A brief interval of silence followed, and then, bang! went Boxy’s gun,
before he had had time to take anything like a correct aim.
The shot spread out over the fox’s head, and caused him to leap to one
side in alarm.
“Didn’t I hit him?” cried Boxy.
Bang! went Harry’s gun. His aim was better than Boxy’s, and off limped
the fox on three legs, the left hind one having received part of the
charge of shot.
“You hit him, even if I didn’t!” yelled Boxy. “But he’ll get away from
us, I’m afraid!”
“Hurry and load up!” cried Harry. “We can get him if we try.”
They reloaded the guns with all possible speed, running after the fox
as they did so. It was hard work with the skates on their feet, and
just as they got the animal again in sight Boxy tripped and went down
on his knees in a hollow.
His gun went off as he tumbled, and the shot grazed the fox’s neck,
causing a painful wound.
The animal let out a yelp of rage, and turned to leap down into the
very hollow into which Boxy had tumbled.
“Shoot him, Harry!” cried the boy, in sudden terror. “He’s coming after
me!”
Boxy was partly right. As the fox reached the bottom of the opening
he spied Boxy, and, feeling ugly, he did not attempt to get away, but
sprang directly for Boxy’s face.
It was a thrilling moment, for, though small, a fox is exceedingly
savage when aroused, and with his long, sharp teeth can do serious
damage.
Boxy squirmed to one side, and the animal landed on his shoulder. He
buried his teeth into the boy’s overcoat, snapping and snarling as he
did so.
Then a loud report rang out, as Harry fired. He was not over three
yards away, and his aim was true. The fox received the greater part of
the shot in his side, and, with a backward leap he tumbled over dead.
It was several seconds before Boxy managed to scramble to his feet. He
was as white as a ghost, and trembling in every limb.
“Is he--he dead?” he gasped, as he surveyed the fox from a slight
distance.
“I guess he is, but there is nothing like making sure, he is such a
sly creature,” responded Harry, and, going up, he struck the head of
the animal a resounding blow with the butt of his gun. “Yes, he’s dead
enough.”
“It was lucky you hit him,” went on Boxy, gratefully. “If you hadn’t he
would have chewed me up.”
“He was a tough customer, and no mistake,” rejoined Harry. “See what a
splendid white tail!”
“He’s a pretty big one. Will you take him along as he is?”
“I’ll have to; I can’t skin him here very well. Do you want to go after
another?”
Boxy gave a shiver.
“Not to-night,” he returned. “I’ve had enough hunting for the present.
It’s something a fellow has got to get used to.”
“I doubt very much if we could get another,” remarked Harry. “The shots
have probably scattered them from the neighborhood. They know what a
gun will do just as well as we.”
Harry brought out a string from his pocket, and with this tied the dead
fox to the barrel of his gun, which he slung over his shoulder.
“Our quarter of an hour is up and more,” remarked Boxy, as they turned
to go back to the river. “The others must be close to Rudd’s Landing by
this time.”
“I guess you are not as cold as you were,” laughed Harry. “I feel as
warm as toast now.”
“Yes, such an adventure is enough to stir up any one’s blood,” rejoined
Boxy, dubiously. “But I’d just as lief remain a bit cold hereafter.”
“You may expect greater adventures than this when we get to our winter
camp, Boxy. Supposing that fox had been a bear, or even a big wolf?”
Boxy did not reply to this. Somehow, just then the camping out did not
seem so much sport after all.
They were soon on the river, and, crossing to the other shore, started
after their companions.
It was growing colder every moment, and the breeze on the ice, little
as it was, went through them like a knife. They were glad enough when
they saw numerous lights ahead, which they knew must be the town for
which they were bound.
Presently they came upon a party of skaters, and from them learned that
the _Icicle_ had passed on but a few minutes before. They kept on, and
just before Barton Coils’ boathouse was reached, they overtook their
companions.
“Got a fox, sure enough!” cried Andy. “Who shot it?”
“Harry, and he saved my life doing it,” replied Boxy, and, hardly
waiting to catch his breath, he told his story, to which those who had
gone on ahead listened with keen interest.
By the time Boxy had finished, the boathouse, at which the _Icicle_
was to be left, was reached, and, leaving the iceboat and the sled in
a safe place, all hands rushed into the building to warm up around the
red-hot stove, which to them looked to be just then the most inviting
thing in the world.
Barton Coils, a jolly man of forty, received them cordially, and soon
made them feel at home.
“I’ll bet ye had a most uncommon cold run of it,” he said. “And a cup
of hot coffee will be just the thing to warm your inwards, eh?” and
he straightway set about preparing, not only coffee, but a whole hot
supper for them in his tiny kitchen in the rear.
By the time supper was ready, they were somewhat rested. They crowded
around his small table like so many famished wolves, and it was
astonishing to see how rapidly the food disappeared. Luckily, he had
sufficient on hand, so no one went short.
Barton Coils took a lively interest in the proposed expedition, and
declared he almost wished he was one of the party.
“It would make me feel ten years younger,” he said.
“Why can’t you go?” asked Jack. “I am sure we would all be pleased to
have you along.”
“I can’t leave here, that’s the trouble,” returned the boathouse
keeper. “Otherwise, I would accept your kind offer in a minute, I
would, indeed.”
He asked them about their traps, and told them of several additional
things it would be best to take along. Andy made a note of the
articles, and before retiring went up into the town and procured them.
“You’ll find your _Icicle_ all right when you come back for her, never
fear,” said Coils to Jack.
“I know we shall,” said Jack. Then he began to talk to the others, and
they all nodded in the affirmative. “See here, we have a proposition to
make,” he went on. “There is no use allowing the iceboat to remain idle
during our absence, and we have decided to let you hire her out to the
town folks if you will. Whatever you can get that way will be yours.”
“Well, boys, I didn’t expect this.” And Barton Coils smiled his
gratitude.
“It will be better to keep the runners scoured up than let them grow
rusty. But the sail will have to be mended.”
“I’ll fix that all right; and much obliged to you all,” replied the
boatkeeper.
There was a large spare room over the boathouse, and in this the boys
spent the night, lying on the floor in their blankets in true camping
style. Barton Coils would have given them a couple of old cots, but
they declined these, for the reason, as Pickles put it, “dat da wanted
fo’ to git ust to sleepin’ on de hard side of jess nowhere.”
When the members of the Zero Club arose they found the day as clear as
could be wished. The sun was just peeping over the distant hills and
not a breath of air was blowing.
“Boom-a-rah! boom-a-rah! boom! boom! boom!” sounded out Boxy, imitating
a big drum. “All up, for there is no time to lose if we want to reach
the shores of Rock Island Lake before nightfall.”
“Right you are,” cried Jack. “Fold up the blankets and make your
toilets just as quickly as you can. Pickles can see to the repacking of
the sled, while I hunt around for breakfast.”
“Breakfast is all ready!” put in Barton Coils, poking his head up the
ladder-way. “I was just going to rouse you out.”
In a jiffy one and another made their toilets, and climbed down into
the kitchen. The smell of the buckwheat cakes filled the apartment, and
a big platter of them were ready to be eaten, along with some maple
syrup fresh from the grove back of the landing.
“Here’s where I am struck right in my soft spot!” cried Andy. “I’ll
miss the buckwheat cakes, if nothing else!”
“Then you had better fill up well,” laughed Barton Coils. “Here you
are, smoking hot! Who’ll have the next?”
Forks and knives were clattering right merrily for the next ten
minutes. The buckwheat cakes were washed down with hot coffee and
cream, and soon all were more than satisfied.
Then came a farewell shake of the hand with the boathouse keeper, and a
final inspection of their traps.
“Now we’re off!” cried Jack. “Hurrah for the tour of the Zero Club!”
“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried the others, and Barton Coils joined in, waving
his towel over his head as he did so.
Off they started, through the little town. The last house was soon left
behind. Before them lay nothing but hills, woods and a frozen lake.
Their outing in the ice and snow had truly begun.