“Bony shot a jack-rabbit,” replied Sam, “but the rest of us didn’t get anything, though I fired at a big sheep.”
“Too far off,” explained Long Gun.
It was getting colder, and there was a promise of snow in the air, which, the Indian explained, would make it all the better for tracking game. The boys were glad to wrap themselves up well when they went to their beds, which consisted of heavy blankets spread over hemlock boughs, placed inside the tent on the ground. A big camp fire was kept going, with enough wood at hand, so that if any one awakened in the night and found it low the fuel could easily be thrown on.
The whole party, with Long Gun included, left after breakfast to bring in the deer Jack had shot. They found it without any trouble under Long Gun’s guidance, but the carcass had been so torn by other beasts that it was not fit for food.
“Rambunctious ram’s horns!” exclaimed Nat. “I was counting on some nice venison steaks, too.”
“Well, we’ll try again,” suggested Jack, and the whole party, on horseback, started off to hunt.
This time they did not go into the region of the bad lands, but to an easy slope of the mountain, well wooded, yet with rocky precipices here and there, with bare spots where, the Indian said, the big-horn sheep might be found.
On Long Gun’s advice the party separated, Jack, Nat and Budge going off to one side, and the others in a different direction. As there was a plain trail back to camp, and plenty of landmarks, there was no danger of any one getting lost.
Jack, Nat and Budge rode along, watching for signs of game, but all they saw were numbers of jack-rabbits.