UNCLE BARNEY'S SECRET
"Looks to me as if we were going to be stumped, Jack."
"I agree, Andy. It doesn't look as if there were any mink in this neighborhood," answered the oldest Rover boy.
"Don't give up yet," pleaded Fred, who sat on a fallen tree, resting.
"It's barely noon yet," announced Andy, glancing at his watch. "We've half a day before us."
The boys had spent the entire time since leaving their cabin in skating along the shore of the island and making their way along the tiny, frozen-up watercourse, where they had hoped to discover at least one brook mink. But the only game to come into sight had been a squirrel, and they had not shot at this, fearing to disturb the other game, were it in that vicinity.
"Let's have lunch before we continue hunting," suggested Andy. "This is as good a spot as any to rest in."
The others were willing, and, finding a little cleared space, they built a tiny campfire and proceeded to make themselves at home. They passed a full hour over the mid-day meal, for the constant skating and tramping through the woods and climbing over the rocks was very tiring.
"It won't be long before our vacation will be at an end," observed Fred. "Only a few days more, and we'll have to get into the grind again at Colby Hall."
"Don't dare to mention lessons yet, Fred!" cried Andy. "Time enough for that when the school bell rings."