Bart Keene's Hunting Days Part 26

"Ah! Um! This is something like!" murmured Ned, with his mouth full.

"Great stuff, Stumpy!"

"Do you like it?" asked the now delighted Fenn.

"Sure!" came in an enthusiastic chorus, and the Christmas dinner was well rounded off by the pudding that Fenn had made with such care.

William spent the remainder of the day in camp with his friends. They went for a walk in the afternoon, did some shooting at targets, for Bart decreed that the game must have a holiday as well as the hunters, and at night, inside the snug tent, with the fire blazing brightly in the stove, and the cold wind blowing outside, they spent a jolly evening, singing songs and telling stories.

William bade his friends good-bye the next morning, and started off through the woods, with his pack upon his back. The chums felt a little lonesome after his departure, but it soon wore off, for there was much to do, to get in wood and water, straighten up the camp, and prepare for a storm, which, according to all the evidences, was soon to break.

It did that night. All the next day, the following night, and part of the next day the wind blew with unabated violence, and the snow was heaped in big drifts.

Fortunately the camp was in a sheltered position, and the drifts were not high immediately around it, but when the boys ventured out they found it hard traveling, for the snow was deep. All around, the woods were covered with a mantle of white, which had sifted down through the trees, while the firs, spruces, hemlocks and pines, which had heavy foliage that caught the white crystals, were mounds of white.

"It's a good thing we had plenty to eat," observed Bart, as he and his chums looked around the camp, "for we never could have gotten it during the storm."

"That's right," agreed Fenn, "but, as it is, we'll have to get something soon, unless we want to live on canned stuff. The fresh meat is nearly gone." For, while practically prisoners in their tents during the storm, they had eaten considerable, and the cupboard was somewhat depleted.

"Oh, we'll soon stock up again," declared Bart. "It will be good hunting now, and, though we can't shoot any deer, I may get a chance at another bear, and there will be plenty of rabbits and game birds. We'll take a chance at it after breakfast."

They started out, taking care to have their compa.s.ses with them, though they did not expect to go far. No bears were to be seen, but partridge, pheasants and wild turkeys were plentiful, and, in addition to getting a supply of these, they shot several rabbits.

In the tent that evening, before going to bed, the boys were cleaning their guns, in antic.i.p.ation of a hunt the following day. Suddenly Fenn, who was nearest the flap, uttered a word of caution.

"Listen," he said in a whisper. "I think I hear something."

The others became silent at once, but they heard nothing.

"Guess it was the wind, Stumpy," observed Bart, as he put an oiled rag down the barrel of his rifle.

"Maybe," a.s.sented the stout lad, as he arose and peered out. He came back, remarking: "I didn't see anything, but I thought I heard some one prowling around."

It was not until the next morning that the boys recalled the incident of the night previous. Then Frank, who was walking about the cleared s.p.a.ce in front of the tents, to get up an appet.i.te, as he expressed it, uttered a cry of wonder.

"Look here!" he shouted.

"What?" cried Fenn, running up to him.

"A turtle!" went on Frank, picking up one of the reptiles that was slowly crawling along, made sluggish by the cold. "Here's a mud turtle, and see, some one has been walking around here," and he pointed to footprints in the snow.

"I was sure I heard some one last night," declared Fenn, triumphantly.

"That mysterious man again, I'll wager a cookie!" exclaimed Bart. "But what is the turtle doing here? Is it the same one you had, Stumpy?"

"No, it's a different kind. Maybe that mysterious man dropped it, and was hunting around for it."

"Hard to tell," remarked Frank. "Anyhow, isn't it rather queer, Stumpy, to see mud turtles out this time of year?"

"Sure it is. They don't come out by themselves to play around in the snow. Either some one dug this one up, or some one had it and dropped it. Well, I guess the best thing we can say is that it's part of the mystery. If we could only meet with that man who seems so afraid of meeting us, matters might be explained. As it is----" Fenn could only finish by a shrug of his shoulders.

CHAPTER XXIV

A SHOT IN TIME

For some time the young hunters discussed the curious happening, but they could arrive at no solution of the mystery. Fenn took the turtle, and put it in a box back of the stove, hardly knowing why he did so, except that he had some notion of adding it to his collection, or of giving it to Professor Long.

"Well, there's no use talking about it any more," decided Bart. "Let's get ready and go off on another hunting trip. We haven't got much longer to stay here--not more than two weeks."

This suited his companions, and soon they were cleaning their guns, sorting cartridges and fitting them in their belts, taking care not to make the mistake Frank did, when he was treed by the wildcat; and looking to their clothing and hunting boots.

That afternoon Fenn was seen to be busy in the cook tent. He looked out now and then, disclosing a face on which were many spots of flour.

"What you up to now, Stumpy?" asked Bart, who had finished his hunting preparations. "Making something good for grub?"

"Sure," answered Fenn. "How does meat pie strike you?"

"All right, as long as it isn't made of rubber boots and flannel bandages," answered Frank.

"Not this time," declared Stumpy. "There'll be no monkey-s.h.i.+nes with this pie. We'll have it hot for breakfast before we start off hunting."

He was busy all the rest of that afternoon, and, judging by the time he spent over it, the pie was going to be an elaborate affair.

Fenn was the first one up the next morning. He tumbled out of his blankets, made a hurried toilette, and, a few minutes later was heard to excitedly cry out:

"Here! That'll do you fellows! A joke's a joke, but this is too much!

Where did you put it, you lobsters?"

"Where did we put what?" asked Bart, sticking his head out of the tent flap. "Why this unseemly noise, Stumpy, my son?"

"You know well enough. Where's the meat pie?"

"You don't mean to tell us you've gone and walked in your sleep, and eaten that meat pie we were to have for breakfast; have you?" cried Ned.

"No, I haven't; but some of you fellows have hidden it," declared Fenn.

"Come on, now. This is enough of that joke. Tell me where it is, Bart, and I'll warm it up for breakfast."

"Why, I haven't seen it, Stumpy." Bart's voice had the ring of innocence.

"Then you hid it, Frank."

"Not on your life. I've got too good an appet.i.te."

"Then Ned must have put it somewhere. Tell us, Ned."

"Search me!" cried Ned, earnestly. "I never touched it, Stumpy. Where did you put it when you went to bed?"