At the end of four miles they passed through one of the lumber settlements, and then, leaving the wagon road, took to a trail running in the neighborhood of Moose Ridge.
“I met a man yesterday who was coming out to the Ridge to hunt,” said Andy. “Wonder if he’ll have any success.”
“Hunting is not as good as it might be,” answered his chum. “The best of the game was killed off at the very beginning of the season. Still, he may get some deer, or a moose, if he’s a good hunter.”
“I’d like to get a moose myself, Chet.”
“Oh, so would I. If you see one, kindly point him out to me.” And Chet’s usually serious face showed a grin.
“I will—after I have brought him down with my gun,” answered Andy, and then both laughed.
Less than fifteen minutes later they came on the trail of a deer. The marks were so fresh, both boys could not resist the temptation to go after the game. They plunged through some bushes, and Andy went headlong into a hollow.
“Wuow!” he spluttered, as the snow got into his ears and down his neck. “What a tumble!”
“Maybe you’re training for a circus,” cried Chet.
“Not out here—and in this cold. Help me up, will you?”