“Huh! I’d not be afraid. I don’t believe a polar bear is any more dangerous than a moose.”
“I saw a moose just before I had the tumble,” said Barwell Dawson. “I climbed up the cliff after him, but I couldn’t get very close. I took two shots at him, but he got away.”
“If we are going to be snowed up here we ought to try for some game,” said Chet. “Maybe I can stir up some rabbits, or something.”
It was decided that he should go out, leaving Andy to look after Mr. Dawson and the campfire.
“But don’t go far,” cautioned Andy. “The snow is coming down so thick that you may get lost.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of myself,” answered Chet.
He knew it would be a bad move to go out into the open, so he kept to the timber, blazing a tree here and there as he went along. He knew very little game would be stirring.
“If I get anything it will be more accident than anything else,” he reasoned. “No animal is going to stir out in this storm.”
He was just passing under a big spruce tree when, chancing to glance up, he saw a sight that quickened his pulse. On a limb close at hand were several wild turkeys, huddled together to keep warm.
With great caution he moved to one side, to get a good aim. Then, raising his gun, he blazed away. There was a whirr and a flutter, and two of the turkeys came down, one dead and the other wounded. Rushing forward, Chet caught the wounded bird by the neck, and soon put it out of its misery.