Fenn was rapidly recovering from the effects of his encounter with the buck, though he was still a trifle shaky. He managed to march along, however, and it was found that the cut on his arm was his only injury, except for some bruises and a severe shaking up.
The boys managed to get the buck on some tree branches, after Fenn and Bart had returned to camp, where they found Ned and Frank waiting for them, and they dragged the carcass over the snow to the tents. There it was cut up, and hung in trees, out of the way of foxes, or other prowling beasts.
With enough food in camp for the rest of their stay, the four chums now took things a little easier, only going out for occasional game birds. Fenn’s injury seemed to be healing from the effects of the medical salve put on from the box Alice had provided.
It was one afternoon, three days later, that Ned was observed to be busy with an empty box, some big rubber bands, and string.
“What are you up to now?” asked Frank.
“You’ll see,” was the answer. “I don’t know whether it will work or not, so I’m not going to say what it is.” A little later Ned started off through the woods, carrying his contrivance.
His chums were busy about camp, cleaning their guns, bringing in wood or water, and “slicking up” generally, and so paid little attention to Ned. It wasn’t until half an hour afterward that, hearing startled cries in the woods, from the direction of a little clearing where rabbits were numerous, that Bart exclaimed:
“Something’s happened to Ned! Hurry up!”
They ran to the place, and saw a curious sight. Ned was lying on the snow-covered ground, his hands stretched toward a sapling while his feet seemed encased in the box at which he had been working a short time previous.
“What’s the matter?” panted Bart.