“Well, we got one apiece, after all,” said Joel Runnell, after a pause, during which they made sure that all of the game were dead. “Boys, I can tell you that we’ve been lucky. It isn’t likely that we’ll make a better haul than this all the time we are out.”
“Excepting we get on the track of a moose,” said Joe.
“So far as I know, there are no longer any moose in this vicinity. I haven’t shot one for four years. As for meat, there is nothing better than the deer we have just brought down.”
How to get the game to the lodge was the next problem, and after a conference it was decided to pile two of the deer on a drag, and take them over at once. The others were hung high in a tree, so as to protect them from other wild animals.
“I reckon we’ve had sport enough for one day,” said Joel Runnell. “By the time we get these two deer to the lodge everybody will be fagged out.”
For drags they cut long sweeps of pine. On these the deer were tightly bound with ropes, and while the old hunter and Fred pulled one, Joe and Harry pulled the other.
As they reached the edge of the lake Joe caught sight of some game in a nearby tree. They were partridge, and he and old Runnell brought down six. The others flew away with a rush that was exceedingly noisy.
“Now we can have a potpie worth eating!” exclaimed Joe. “I’ll make one just like Grandma Anderson’s.”
To Harry, who was tired out, the walk over the lake appeared endless, but just as the sun was setting they came in sight of the lodge.
“Home again!” sang out Joe. “Home again, and glad——Hello!”