“Boys, we’ve got to get something this time,” said Jack. “The place is like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, almost bare, so don’t despise even jack-rabbits, though, of course, a nice deer or a sheep would go better.”
They had been directed by Long Gun to take a trail that led obliquely up the side of the mountain, as the Indian said it was a likely place for game, and at noon they camped in a little clearing for lunch, having had no sight of anything bigger than squirrels, which they would not shoot.
“I tell you what it is,” said Jack, after thinking the matter over, “I believe we’re too closely bunched. We ought to divide up, some go one way, and some the other. We’d be more likely to see something then. We can make a circle, and work our way around back to camp by nightfall.”
“All right,” agreed Sam. “Bony and I will take the trail to the left, and you can go to the right with Nat and Will. I’ll wager we beat you, too.”
“That’s a go,” agreed Jack. “Come on.”
A little later the two parties of young hunters separated, and were soon lost to sight of each other.
For an hour or more Jack, Nat and Will slowly urged their horses through the light snow. They kept a sharp lookout for signs of game, but were beginning to despair of seeing any, when Jack uttered a cry.
“There’s been a deer along here,” he said. “And not long ago, either, if I’m any judge of the signs Long Gun taught us.”
“It does look so,” admitted Nat. “Easy, now, and maybe we can trail him.”
“We’d better leave our horses, though,” Jack went on. “It’s bad going, and they make quite a bit of noise.”