“Well, lad, as to that, it’s often much safer to run than to stand your ground. I dodged an old buck once for half an hour, and then escaped only by the skin of my teeth. Something got the matter with my gun, and it wouldn’t go off.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yes, two days later. I made up my mind I’d have him, and I traveled nigh on thirty miles to lay him low.”
After the necessary work around the lodge was concluded time hung heavily on Fred’s hands, and he decided to try his luck once more at fishing.
“It’s better than doing nothing,” he said.
“Well, it’s all right, only don’t fall into the hole, and get drowned,” cautioned Joel Runnell. And then Fred disappeared with his outfit, whistling merrily.
Left to himself, Joel Runnell proceeded to split some more wood, and pile it up in a corner of the living-room. To his experienced eye he could see that another snowstorm was not far off, and how long it would last there was no telling.
“We’ve got meat enough,” he reasoned to himself. “And so long as we have wood, too, there will be no cause to worry.”
The thermometer had gone down once more, and he had to work at a lively rate to keep warm. He wondered how Fred was making out with his fishing, and grinned to himself.
“Wager he won’t stay there long,” he muttered. “If he does, he’ll be frozen stiff.”