“I’m afraid I’m not up to it,” said Jack. “My leg is just beginning to get better, and I don’t want to strain it with walking through the woods. I might stumble.”
“That’s so,” agreed Tom. “We’ll stay here then.”
“No, go on!” urged the injured lad. “Don’t let me hold you back. I’ll be all right until you return.”
“I’ll stay with you,” volunteered Dick.
“No, you go along!” insisted Jack. “I’ll be all right alone. Besides, I didn’t bring my gun, and I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have a game leg. Go ahead.”
Thus urged, Tom and his two chums set off in the dense woods, taking their route by a compass, so that they could more easily find their way back.
Left to himself Jack took a comfortable position, leaned against a stone that he had padded with leafy branches and ferns, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.
Meanwhile Tom and the others tramped on, looking eagerly about for some sign of legitimate game that they could take a shot at. They roused several foxes, for the forest was almost primitive in its wildness, but they did not shoot the prowling creatures, as they were valueless for food or fur.
Tom, however, saw a big, snowy owl, and, as he wanted it for a specimen in his school den, he bowled it over.