“This is something like!” murmured Bert, his mouth half full.
“That’s what,” agreed George. “You wouldn’t know from looking around here that there was such a place as Elmwood Hall.”
The meal over, they again took up the march, and they had not gone far before Tom, who was a little in advance, started a big white rabbit. He saw the bunny, and then almost lost sight of it again, so well did its white coat of fur blend with the snow. But in another instant Tom’s keen eye saw it turning at an angle.
He raised his rifle.
“You can’t hit it with that!” cried Jack.
But Tom was a better shot than his chum gave him credit for being. As the gun cracked, the rabbit gave a convulsive leap and came down in a heap on the snow.
“By Jove! You did bag him!” cried Jack, admiringly.
“Of course,” answered Tom coolly, as though he had intended doing that all along, whereas he well knew, as did his chums, that the shot was pure luck, for it takes a mighty good hunter to get a rabbit with a rifle bullet.
However, the bunny was added to the game bag, and then, for some time, the boys had no further luck. A little later, when they were well on their way back, Jack saw a plump gray squirrel on a tree. Bert was near him, but on the wrong side, and Jack, taking his chum’s gun, brought down the animal, which further increased their luck that day.
“Well, we’ve got all we want to eat for a while. What do you say we quit?” suggested Tom. “No use killing just for fun.”