He practiced at a target occasionally, as did his chums, but they could not begin to equal Bart in making bullseyes, though Ned ran his friend a close second.
The boys tramped about, did the work necessary in camp, hunted and fished and thoroughly enjoyed life during the mild weather of the unexpected thaw. Not that they did not enjoy it when it was cold and snapping, or even snowing, but they could do much more when the weather was milder.
“But we’ll pay for this,” declared Bart one day, when they had started on their second week of camp life. “We’ll have a storm soon, I’m thinking.”
“Let it come,” declared Fenn. “We’re ready for it, and the folks know we’re all right,” for they had walked to a cross-roads rural free delivery box that day, and deposited some letters to go to Darewell, as they knew the mail carrier would collect the missives.
“You won’t get your deer if the snow comes,” spoke Frank, “and, by the looks of the sky, we’ll have a flurry before night.”
“I know it, and that’s the reason I’m going out this afternoon, and have another try for it. Are you fellows coming?”
“I’m not,” announced Fenn. “Too tired. I’m going to stay here and chop wood. You fellows won’t do it, and we’ve got to have some for the fires.”
“I’ll help,” agreed Frank.
“Will you come, Ned?” went on Bart.
“Nope, I’m going to clean my gun. There’ll be some good shooting after the storm, and I want to be ready for it.”