Skeetles showed his gun, and Dan Marcy exhibited a pistol, and, alarmed at the unexpected show of firearms, Fred dropped back to the place where the stores had been placed.
As he could not get into the lodge, Fred decided to follow Joel Runnell’s advice and take to a tree. Armed with several blankets, he climbed into a pine and made himself as comfortable as possible. The storm that had threatened now started, the flakes of snow coming down softly, and growing thicker and thicker every minute.
“This will make it bad for Joe and Harry,” thought Fred. “They’ll have their own troubles getting back to camp if it snows too hard.”
From a distance he heard a rifle shot, proving that Joel Runnell was still following the bear. But after that all was quiet for a good hour.
By that time Fred was hungry, and climbing down to the ground, he procured such things from the stores as were ready to eat. He was just finishing a cracker when Joel Runnell came into view.
“Did you shoot him?” asked the youth, eagerly.
“No, he got away among the rocks,” was Joel Runnell’s reply. “I might have tracked him farther, but I was afraid of falling into some pit, the snow is that thick. I reckon this is going to be the banner storm of the season. How did you make out with Skeetles and Marcy?”
“I made out—and that’s all,” grinned Fred. “They won’t let me come near the cabin.”
“I thought as much, and as I came along I picked out a new spot for a shelter—providing you and the others want to stay on the island.”
“We can’t leave until Joe and Harry come back. If we do, they won’t know where to look for us.”