“He is a natural-born hunter and trapper,” said Harry, in speaking of Boone. “He takes to it like an Indian to a buffalo trail.”
Among the traps made by Joe was a large one, strong enough to hold a catamount, and possibly a bear. It was of the old-fashioned chain variety, with a powerful jaw, and set close to the ground. Joe had seen the footprints of some wild animal midway between the edge of the clearing and a small pond that, in summer, connected with the watercourse near the cabin, and here he set up the trap one day when Harry was busy around the house.
On the following day Harry started to go fishing through a hole in the ice on the pond. Joe had work to do at home, so did not accompany him.
“Do not stay away after dark, Harry,” cautioned his mother. “I think it will snow before morning.”
“I’ll be back by supper-time,” answered the son.
It did not take him long to reach the pond. He had brought his ax with him, and soon had a hole in the ice a foot or more in diameter. Then he brought forth some bait, and also a spear, and did his best to catch some of the fish he knew must be in the pond.
But the specimens of the finny tribe were not biting, and, although he fished for two hours steadily, he got nothing. Then, in disgust, he wound up his line.
As usual he had his gun with him, and now he determined to look for a little game.
“I’m not going home empty-handed,” he told himself. “If I do Joe will have the laugh on me.”
It was growing colder, and the standing still over the hole in the ice had chilled Harry not a little. To get his blood into circulation he started to run, and did not stop until he stumbled over a tree root and pitched headlong.