“Chance for what?” asked Harry.
“Chance for wild turkeys. They’ve just settled in the woods on the upper end of the Triangle.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Joe. “Where is my gun?”
He had it out in an instant, and Fred and Harry followed suit—the latter forgetting all about his precious camera in the excitement.
“You can go it alone this time,” said the old hunter. “Show me what you can do. I’ll watch the traps.”
In a moment they were off, and five minutes of hard skating brought them to the shore of the Triangle. Here they took off their skates, and then plunged into the snow-laden thickets.
“Make no noise!” whispered Joe, who was in advance. “Wild turkeys are hard to get close to.”
“Oh, I know that,” came from Fred. “I’ve tried it more than half a dozen times.”
As silently as ghosts the three young hunters flitted through the woods, each with his gun before him, ready for instant use.
Presently they saw a little clearing ahead, and Joe called a halt. They listened intently and heard the turkeys moving from one tree to another.