“Now for a nice lot of game,” exclaimed Bart, as he got out his rifle, and looked over his supply of ammunition. “I think I’ll load for bear to-day.”
“Do you mean to say you expect to go shooting in this storm?” asked Frank, for it was still snowing. The white flakes were of a considerable depth on the ground, but the two tents, standing as they did under some gigantic pine trees, were much protected.
“Of course we’re going hunting to-day,” declared Bart. “That’s what we came for. Some bear steak wouldn’t go at all bad, especially as we can’t get fresh meat here.”
“No, nor fresh bread, either,” added Ned. “I miss my rolls with my coffee.”
“I’m going to bake some biscuits for dinner,” declared Fenn. “I brought along some self-raising flour.”
“Good for you, Stumpy!” cried Ned. “Pity, though, you didn’t bring along some self-baking bread, and some washless dishes.”
“Well, if we’re going, let’s go,” proposed Frank. “Will it be safe to leave our stuff in camp, unprotected?”
“We can’t take it with us,” said Bart. “Besides, there isn’t any one within ten miles of this place. That’s why I wanted to camp here. It will be all right. Well, I’m ready if you are.”
“I’m going to take my shot-gun,” decided Frank. “Maybe I’ll see some wild turkeys or some partridge. They’ll do if Bart doesn’t get his bear.”
Fenn, instead of getting ready his gun, as the others were going, had gone to the box where he had placed the large turtle, captured the night previous.