“Oh, we’ll get more, if we are careful and keep our eyes open,” declared Dave. “I saw the track of the rabbit in the snow yonder and that made me look for him.”
Dave’s success put all the students on the alert, and they spread out on either side of the stream, eager to sight more game.
Less than two minutes later came the crack of Gus Plum’s shotgun, followed almost immediately by a shot from Buster Beggs’ pistol. Then a gray rabbit went scampering across the river in front of the boys and several fired simultaneously.
“I got him! I got him!” shouted Gus, and ran to the shore, to bring out a medium-sized rabbit.
“And we’ve got another!” cried Sam. “But I don’t know whether Shadow, Ben, or I killed him.”
“I guess we all had a hand in it,” said Ben. “We all fired at about the same time.”
“What did you get, Buster?” questioned Chip Macklin.
“I—I guess I didn’t get anything,” faltered the fat youth. “I thought I saw a squirrel, but I see now that it is only a tree root sticking out of the snow.”
“Great Scott, Buster! Don’t shoot down the trees!” cried Phil, in mock dismay. “They might fall on us, you know!” And a laugh arose at the would-be hunter’s expense.
On the students skated, and before long reached a point where the river was parted by a long, narrow strip of land known as Squirrel Island, because squirrels were supposed to abound there.