Before leaving the next morning the old hunter told them where he thought they could bring down a mink or two, and after his departure they set off, to see what luck they might have.
The weather was now getting colder and there was a promise of snow in the air. Yet about ten o'clock the sun broke through the clouds and then it grew a bit warmer.
"A little snow will make hunting very fine," declared Snap, as they trudged along. "As it is now, it is next to impossible to track any big game."
The spot Jack Dalton had mentioned was nearly two miles from their camp, along a rocky watercourse flowing into a small lake between Lake Cameron and Firefly Lake. Here, among the rocks, was a favorite haunt of the mountain brook mink, as they are popularly called.
As they neared the locality, the young hunters looked to their weapons and then advanced with caution. The water, gurgling over the rocks, drowned the sounds of their advance, and so they came upon the mink without being discovered.
Two of the animals were in sight, one on either side of the small stream. As all wanted the honor of bringing down the mink, Shep and Snap fired at one and Whopper and Giant at the other. The aim of the boy hunters was true, and the game dropped down where they stood.
"Fine mink these," declared Snap, after an examination. "Just look at the heavy fur."
"You are right," answered Whopper. "But the fur will he thicker yet later in the season."
With the mink in their game-bags, they pushed on up the tiny watercourse and not long after roused up some partridge, the game going up with a rush that at first scared them. But they shot as quickly as they could, and each had a partridge to his credit.
"This day is opening finely," declared Whopper. "We are bound to get about a hundred birds and animals, I'll wager."