“We can’t climb up here,” said Harry, in dismay. “If we do we’ll both take a tumble.”
“Let us walk along near the foot of the ridge,” answered Joe. “This is as good a spot to hunt as it is higher up.”
The foot of the ridge led to something of a hollow. Here was a long stretch of high brush, the tops sticking out of the snow for several feet.
An hour’s tramp brought them to a still deeper hollow where even the small trees were mostly covered with snow. Here they had to walk with extra care, for they knew the snow must be at least ten feet deep, and neither had any desire to fall once more and go floundering to the bottom under the crust.
“I don’t like this,” said Joe presently. “It worries me. Let us get to higher ground.” And so they made their way back to the ridge and then began, with extreme caution, to climb something of a hill.
Noon found them in the shelter of a clump of walnut trees. Their tramp had made them as hungry as bears, and both willingly sat down to rest on a fallen tree and to eat a portion of the provisions their game bag contained.
“If we were depending on bear’s meat or venison we’d go hungry,” was Joe’s comment, as he munched a biscuit.
“Oh, don’t worry, Joe. A half a day isn’t three days, you know. Besides, we could have had that partridge if we had wanted it.”
“I haven’t seen the first sign of a deer or a bear yet.”
“Neither have I; but we are bound to strike luck sooner or later,” answered Harry cheerfully.