“Get out!” replied Sam. “I can stand as much cold as you can.”
But none of the boys cared to be long in that biting cold, for the wind sent the snowflakes into their faces with stinging force, and the white crystals came down so thickly that had they gone far from the tent it is doubtful if they could have found their way back again.
The horses were sheltered in a shack that had been built of saplings, with leaves and earth banked around it and on the roof, and the animals, huddled closely together, were warm and comfortable.
Inside the big tent, where the members of the gun club stayed, it was not cold, for Long Gun and Budge kept the fire going in the stone stove, and as the tent was well banked around the bottom, but little of the biting wind entered.
Nothing could be done, as it was not safe to venture out, so the boys put in the day cleaning their guns, polishing some of the horn trophies they had secured, and talking of what had happened so far on their camping trip.
Toward evening Long Gun went out to the supply tent to get some meat to cook. He came back in a hurry, his face showing much surprise.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jack quickly.
“Meat gone!” exclaimed the Indian. “Something take him from tent.”
The boys rushed out into the storm toward the smaller canvas shelter where their food and supplies were kept. One side had been torn down, and within there was a scene of confusion.