“Of course if the snare was simply fastened to the limb over the path the rabbit would choke himself to death for a certainty, because he never stops pulling and tugging at the noose while he has a kick left in him. But then some fox or weasel would probably come along and get him. But neither of them will get him if he is dangling in the air: the weasel can’t reach him, and the fox is such a crafty fellow, always looking out for traps and tricks, that he won’t go near a dead rabbit hanging on a string, even if he is starving.
“Now that the snow has stopped falling the rabbits will be out to-night making paths, and to-morrow night we’ll put out some snares just for practice. I’ll teach you a dozen ways to make snares for different kinds of game, but the principle of all of them is the same as the one for catching Mr. Rabbit. And he’s the boy we’re interested in mostly.”
The old hunter rose and went out to “have a look at the snow,” as he put it. He came back well pleased with his inspection.
“The crust will form and set hard to-night,” he said to Larry, “and to-morrow you’ll begin your hardest and most important lesson—learning to walk on snow-shoes. You can look forward to taking some of the grandest headers you have ever taken in your life,” he added, grinning.
“But—” Larry began, and then stopped.
“‘But’ what?” Martin asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Larry answered evasively. “I was just thinking of those headers that I am going to take to-morrow, that’s all.”
“Well, go to bed and dream about them then,” the old hunter instructed.
CHAPTER VII
THE JOURNEY THROUGH THE FOREST
“My goodness, boy,” the old hunter said the next morning at breakfast, “I do wish you could handle a pair of snow-shoes. We’d start for home to-morrow, if you could. For the crust is perfect, and the weather is settled for a spell I think. But there’s no use starting until we can make good time every hour, so we’ll spend another week letting you learn to use the snow-shoes, and getting the kinks out of your legs.”