Having arrived at the outskirts of a growing settlement, close to a genuine forest, the eight hunters fell to work, and soon built an uncomfortable and unsafe little shanty.
“This will be life in earnest,” Charles observed joyously.
The young ladies of his native village politely spoke of him as “Mr. Growler;” but his moustache was still so white that we should not be justified in so honoring him.
“Yes; this is the artless life our forefathers lived;” said Marmaduke, poetical as ever.
“No,” corrected Stephen, “our forefathers didn’t range through the forest with Castile soap in their bundles and charms dangling on their watch chains.”
“Come, now, considering that you smuggled the soap into Marmaduke’s pack, you are rather hard on him,” said Will.
“Oh, I smuggled it there for my own use as well as for his,” Stephen explained.
This proves that Steve was as fond as ever of monkey tricks.
Of course the hunters were to depend on what they killed in the chase for food; and so, as soon as they were fairly settled, Will and Henry set out to shoot something that would make a delicious stew for dinner.
All at once a strange, shadowy form was espied by Will, lurking in the edge of the wood; and without a moment’s hesitation he raised his gun and fired. Now, at home, Will was considered an excellent marksman; therefore, Henry, who was beside him, was not surprised to see that, whatever the animal might be, it was stone dead.