“I’ve got an idea, boys. Let us fasten the door up from the inside, and then come out through the window. After that we can nail that strip over the window, and then the place will be as tight as a drum.”
This was agreed to, and a little later found them on their way around the shore of Pine Island. The weather was all that could be hoped for, and the boys felt so happy that they were inclined to whistle, until Joel Runnell stopped them.
“You can’t go on a hunt whistling, unless you want the game to know you’re coming,” he said, quizzically.
“Oh, I forgot that,” said Joe, and stopped at once, and the others did the same.
Harry had his camera with him, and took several time exposures, using a very small stop or opening, so that the negatives would be sharp and clear. Then he took a snap shot of Joel Runnell shooting at a flock of birds—a picture which, later on, proved to be all that could be desired. He also took pictures of Fred and Joe aiming at an imaginary rabbit, said rabbit being a fur cap propped up on a bit of brushwood.
“I’ll have a famous collection by the time I get home,” he said. “And I’ll print two sets of pictures, so that Fred can have one set.” And this promise caused Fred to forget the last of the ill feeling he had had over the “snake” joke.
On and on they went, occasionally slipping down an incline with their snowshoes and landing in a heap at the bottom. Then Fred, who was a little to the left of the others, suddenly set up a shout.
“Hi, Joe and Harry, come here, quick! I want to show you something!”
Both ran forward to see what their chum had discovered, and a moment later went headlong into a hollow several yards in diameter and equally deep. There had been some brushwood over part of the opening, but this gave way with them, and let them down so rapidly that they could not save themselves. Then Fred pushed on a snowbank and that followed, all but burying them.
“Great Scott!” spluttered Joe. “What a tumble!” And he scraped the snow from his face.