BLUE TIMES IN CAMP.
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” exclaimed Harry, in deep disgust.
“It’s too bad!” returned Jack. “And he had the last of our venison,
too!”
The other boys now came out of the hut, and matters were speedily
explained to them.
“Never mind; we have the rabbits left,” said Boxy, with a sigh of
relief, as he saw that two of the dead bunnies still hung on the tree
limb.
“That’s so,” returned Harry. “But two rabbits won’t last five boys very
long, to my way of thinking.”
“An’ de crackers’ an’ cheese is most gone, too,” put in Pickles. “We
dun got to shoot or trap somethin’ soon, or starve.”
“Or live on fish,” said Andy, hopefully.
“De trouble is, yo’ can’t always git de fish when yo’ wants dem.”
It was useless to think of going off after the wildcat, and after a
look around, to make sure that no more marauders were about, the boys
set to work to prepare a meal of rabbits stewed with onions--a most
palatable dish, and one which all hands enjoyed.
“Let us see if we can’t set a trap for the wildcat,” suggested Boxy
while they were eating. “Pickles, couldn’t you fix something strong
enough to hold him?”
“I might, wid de sled rope an’ a limbery young tree,” replied the
colored youth.
“Catching the wildcat now would be like locking the barn door after the
horse has been stolen,” grumbled Jack. “However, catch him if you can,
and then he won’t be able to worry us any more.”
So, after the meal was finished, and all that was left was carefully
stowed away, they set to work to build the trap, which, when finished,
was baited with bits of such meat as remained uncooked.
By five o’clock it was dark, and once again they sought the hut, which
now had the appearance of a regular home to them. The blankets were
dry, and Jack took the largest pot and brought it in filled with live
embers from the fire. This warmed up the place, and the ruddy glow
pleased them besides.
They tried to be cheerful during the long evening, but were not as
successful as they wished. They could not help thinking of the almost
empty larder, and wondering how they should restock it.
The night passed without interruption. The wind blew strongly,
sometimes causing the trees composing the corner posts of the hut to
bend slightly, and the snow came down steadily. At eight o’clock in the
morning the situation remained unchanged.
“Deeper than ever,” muttered Harry, as he gazed out of the doorway.
“Boys, this is getting serious.”
“It is, when we are running low on food,” said Boxy. “We’ve got about
enough left for one square meal, and that’s all.”
“Anything in the trap?” asked Andy.
“You would have heard of it before this, if there was,” laughed Harry.
“It’s just as you fellows left it last night.”
“I suppose that confounded wildcat knows we haven’t anything worth
coming for,” grumbled Boxy, gloomily. “What’s to be done, anyway?”
“We’ll have breakfast and then hold a council of war,” replied Jack.
Their rather limited meal was soon over, and then they commenced to
discuss the situation.
“It won’t do to stay in the hut and wait for it to clear off,” remarked
Harry. “For it may snow two or three days yet.”
“Supposing I tries fo’ anodder fish or two?” suggested Pickles.
“Yes, go and get all the fish you can,” said Jack, and the colored boy
hurried off without delay, taking his spear with him.
“Somebody ought to go out on a hunt,” said Andy. “I’ll go if no one
else will.”
“You had better stay home,” replied Jack. “If anybody goes it will be
myself.”
“And I’ll go with you,” said Harry. “What do you say if we start at
once?”
“Let us wait till ten o’clock. It will be a bit warmer then and also
lighter.”
The two at once began their preparations for leaving the hut. They
wished they had snowshoes, but no one of the party had the least idea
how a home-made pair could be constructed so as to be of real value.
“I guess we had better follow the creek,” said Harry. “If we go right
into the woods we may get lost in the snow and be unable to find our
way back through the storm.”
“You are right,” returned Jack. “Hullo, here comes Pickles on a run!”
“Something is wrong!” cried Boxy. “He looks scared.”
“What’s the trouble, Pickles?” called out Harry.
“Jess my luck, when we needed dem fish de worst way,” groaned the
colored youth. “I oughter be kicked full ob holes, dat’s a fack!”
“What is it?”
“I dun strike at a big fish, an’ lost de spear!”
“Lost the spear?” cried Andy, in dismay.
“Dat’s it.”
“Did he pull it away from you?” questioned Jack.
“No, de cord broke, an’ dat fish went swimmin’ away wid de spear in his
tail.”
“Well, that is too bad,” put in Harry.
“De wust of it is I ain’t got no udder spear along,” said Pickles,
gloomily.
“Can’t you make a spear?”
“I don’t t’ink I kin. Howsomeber, I kin try,” and the colored youth
brightened up a bit.
“Do so, and if your home-made spear won’t work, try to snare ’em or
catch ’em in some other way,” said Jack.
“And we’ll help you, while Jack and Harry go gunning,” put in Andy.
As Jack had predicted, by ten o’clock it was both warmer and brighter,
and he and Harry set off in fairly high spirits, despite the snow which
lay in their path.
On one side of the creek the snow was swept away for the greater part,
and along this cleared track they made their way, keeping a sharp
lookout ahead for possible game.
“We ought to strike a few rabbits or squirrels, if nothing else,” said
Jack.
“Unless the heavy storm keeps them from venturing out. It’s hard to
find much in weather like this.”
“But rabbits must come out for food, even if the squirrels stay in.”
“They have their runs, and it’s hard to find them in the open. But come
on, we’ll do our best toward gaining something for the larder.”
On and on they went, now over a cleared spot, and then again through a
drift several feet high. It was tough walking, and before a mile had
been covered both were puffing and blowing like a couple of porpoises.
“Let’s rest for a few minutes!” gasped Harry. “This takes the wind out
of a fellow!”
“So it does. Come on behind the brush, where it is sheltered.”
They found a cleared spot where some thick bushes would protect them
from the keen wind and here sat down on a pile of rocks to rest. They
had been out just an hour without catching sight of the first thing to
shoot.
“How I would love to stumble into a lot of partridges or wild turkeys!”
exclaimed Jack. “Wouldn’t we just blaze into them, though?”
“Even a flock of birds wouldn’t be bad, Jack. Anything for food when
the pot is empty.”
“You’re right. We mustn’t rest here any more than is necessary.”
They were about to proceed on their way, when Jack suddenly caught his
companion by the arm.
“Look! look! A screech owl!” he whispered.
And the next moment he had his gun to his shoulder and was blazing away
at a mass of red and white feathers, perched high up in a neighboring
tree.
There was a terrific screech, and then down tumbled the big bird almost
at their feet.
He was not quite dead, but a blow from Harry’s gun soon settled him,
and he lay still in the snow.
“Is he any good for food?” asked Harry, as he surveyed the game.
“He’s better than nothing, that’s certain,” said Jack. “I’ll take him
along. If we don’t strike anything else, we’ll eat him, and if we do,
I’ll cart him home and have him stuffed.”