XVI
CHRISTMAS EVE ON THE FUR TRAILS
Indian Jake flung the big namaycush into the snow at the tilt door. David and Andy dropped the bag of whitefish by its side, and all, rushing into the tilt, seized their rifles and cartridge bags.
“You lads go up through th’ woods and look for ’em on that side,” directed Indian Jake. “I’ll go up along th’ shore. We’ll be sure to get ’em one side or the other.”
Without a word David and Andy, at a run, but with as little noise as possible, took the direction indicated. Indian Jake, running where he was hidden by brush, stooping low where there was danger that the caribou might see him, followed the ice close to the shore where overhanging brush offered cover to his movements, but where there was firm footing, and he could travel at good speed.
As they neared the place where the caribou had last been seen, the boys moved more cautiously. They stole through the trees without a sound. Their rifles were held ready for instant use.
Suddenly a shot rang out. At the same instant came a sound of crashing bushes, and three caribou burst through the willow brush that lined the lake, and dashed into the forest. David and Andy threw their rifles to their shoulders and fired simultaneously, but with one fleeting glimpse the animals were lost among the thick foliage of the spruce trees.
“They’re gone!” exclaimed David in great disappointment. “We missed un, and we won’t get any of un now!”
“Jake got in one shot,” consoled Andy. “Maybe he knocked one of un down whatever.”
“Let’s have a look where they went through,” suggested David, leading the way.