“Well, where’s the bear steak, and the partridges for roasting.”
“No luck,” declared Bart in disgust. “Never saw a bit of game! I guess we camped in the wrong place.”
“Oh, no we didn’t!” exclaimed Fenn in triumph, as he produced the two plump birds from his pockets. “Here’s what I got, besides bagging a boiling spring for my morning’s work.”
“Say, where’d you get those?” asked Bart eagerly.
“Come on, show us?” begged Ned.
“Time enough,” responded the stout lad. “I’m going to have dinner now, and then we’ll have these birds, roasted, for supper. There’s more where they came from. Now I’ll tell you about the mud volcano,” which he did, graphically, so that his chums were eager to go and see it. But they decided to wait until the next day, and to have a good supper of roast partridge that night. Fenn cooked his game to perfection, and was given a hearty vote of thanks.
A visit to the mud volcano was made the next day, and there were found to be more turtles than on Fenn’s visit. The volcano was observed in action, much to the wonderment of the three lads, who had never seen anything like it, and once Ned, who was too venturesome, was caught under an unusually large shower of mud.
“Well, let’s go hunting now,” proposed Bart, after a pause. “I haven’t had a decent shot since we came to camp. I’ve got to get that bear before I go back.”
They tramped off through the woods, their eyes eager for a sight of game, large or small. Each one had a compass, so that if they became separated they could make their way back to camp, for the forest was dense. The snow had ceased, and the weather was clear and cold.