“Why, go to the edge of this rocky strip and work around it till we strike his tracks in the snow along its border. He must have gone out somewhere; and if he didn’t, we know he’s hiding in here among some of these rocks.”
“That’s a good idea; we’ll try it,” George agreed.
“Look at the rabbit; there it goes!” cried Ed, and he hurried toward a big rock, George stumbling along behind him.
There were many scattered boulders, all very similar in appearance. When the boys reached the one where they thought the rabbit was hiding they saw the little creature jump from behind a rock farther on and go leaping away into a wooded ravine.
“We’ll get him, just for luck,” cried George; and, holding his shotgun ready, he led the way down into the swale where the rabbit had disappeared.
They ran upon a covey of grouse, and George killed one on the first rise. Highly elated, they followed the birds. The next time they thundered into flight, Ed, who had taken the shotgun, shot another.
“This beats tracking foxes and rabbits,” declared George.
Urged on by their enthusiasm, the boys rashly entered the confines of an unknown swamp into which the covey had flown. Another rise, and a miss. Then two of the birds flew into a tree and perched with their necks stretched, motionless as the limb on which they stood. It was a chance for Ed with his rifle, and he killed one by shooting off its head. George got the other with the shotgun as it flew from the branch.
Well satisfied with their luck, they continued into the swamp; but, though they hunted everywhere, they were unable to find the balance of the covey. In their search they twisted and turned in an uncertain course, until they arrived in the very center of a marshy strip where they had left no trail.
“I never thought of taking the direction when we came in here,” said Ed, suddenly feeling in his pocket for the compass. He stopped, and a look of alarm flashed into his face.