“You mustn’t mind that. I’ve seen young gunners go out more than once and not bring a thing down,” returned the old hunter.
Once more the journey up the lake was resumed, and an hour later they came in sight of Pine Island; a long narrow strip of land, located half a mile off the western shore. The island lay low at either end, with a hill about a hundred feet high in the middle. On the hill there was a patch of trees that gave to the place its name, and trees of other varieties lined the shores, interspersed here and there with brushwood. There were half a dozen little coves along the eastern shore, and two small creeks near the southern extremity.
As the party drew closer to the island they saw that all the trees were heavily laden with snow, and many of the bushes were covered.
“Pretty well snowed up, isn’t it?” remarked Joe.
“I’m going to take a picture of the island,” said Harry, and proceeded to get out his camera, which was a compact affair, taking film pictures four by five inches in size.
“Is the light strong enough?” questioned Joe. “I thought you had to have sunlight for a snapshot.”
“I’ll give it a time exposure, Joe.”
“Fred, how long do you think it ought to have?”
“About ten seconds with a medium stop,” was the reply.
The camera was set on the top of one of the sleds and properly pointed, and Joe timed the exposure. Then Harry turned the film roll around for picture number two.