"Well, of all the quitters," snorted Sleepy. "Just because you haven't seen the birds is no sign they aren't there. If you don't see and hear a lot of things to-night that you never saw before, I'm badly mistaken. All that's the matter with you fellows is you're afraid of a little work." Ham sneezed several times in quick succession, and Fat suddenly hurried out, slamming the door behind him. Mr. Dean turned his face from the crowd and energetically poked the fire. From the smiles, it was evident that some had caught on and wanted to go along to see the fun, while others declared it was a trick, and wouldn't move a step.
"Too bad we haven't a dozen bags so we could give them all a chance," laughed Ham, as he and Fat entered the cabin.
Four remained, the rest trailed off to a little grove of young firs and cut themselves branches to drive snowbirds with. Then up the slope they went, winding in and out among the tall, silent trees, over snowy logs and around great, jutting boulders, until the top was reached. Then they hurried along the narrow ridge until it ended in a stone cliff. Here they descended again through the trees until the trail on the south side was reached. Ham picked out an open place entirely surrounded with a heavy growth of young firs. Just at the edge of the little opening, its bulk back in the trees, stood a great stone, twelve or fifteen feet in height. Here Ham began to dig the pit for Sleepy's feet, explaining, as he worked, that the rock would reflect the light and keep the wind from blowing it out. Every hunter spoke in subdued whispers. When the hole was finished, Sleepy stepped into it, and Ham shoveled in the dirt and snow and tramped it tight about him in order to make room for the bag. It was fastened to each leg by a stout cord. Ham gave the parting instructions.
"Light your candle when we get out of hearing, then move it gently back and forth in front of your bag. The first few birds that come will probably scare you, but remember they are only snowbirds and harmless."
The party then separated, filing off in either direction, and were soon swallowed up in the long black shadows. All that Sleepy could hear was the crunching of feet on the partly-crusted snow. He waited nearly breathlessly for all sound to cease, and when the last faint echo had died away it was a very shaky hand that lighted the first match. Of course Sleepy was not frightened—he was only cold! The greasy tip of the new candle sputtered and flared a moment, then went out. He tried again, but this time the match broke off. He felt himself getting excited. He had just two matches left. He must be extremely careful. He struck the third match on the stone behind him and shaded the candle tip with his hand; but his whole body was so nervous and his hands shook so that he could hardly hold candle and match together long enough to get the light. At last he succeeded. He stuck the end of the candle in the snow in front of him while he turned up his collar and pulled his cap down tighter. What was that? His body became rigid, his head went up, his eyes flashed. Was it the snowbirds? He listened intently for an instant, then he quietly relaxed. "Just the kids whacking the brush, I guess," he said, half-aloud. Then he leaned his back against his rock and waited. Every few moments he would gaze cautiously about him, then listen. Here and there back in the shadows he could see a huddled group of pale, straight forms. He knew they were only aspen trees, still he kept a watchful eye on them. The night was absolutely quiet and dark except for long, dimly-lighted alleys between the trees, where the candle rays were frolicking. Here and there he could see the dim outline of a black stump, its little snowcap perched upon its rim. He lifted the candle from its place in the snow and waved it gently before the bag, then he paused cautiously. His imagination had rallied from the cold and was now his closest companion. He saw strange shapes flitting here and there among the shadows. He heard every now and then a new, strange voice of the woods. The trees, it seemed to him, were murmuring their disapproval of such things as snowbird hunts. A myriad of unseen folk were peeping at him from limb and stump and shadow. He knew they were there, even if he couldn't see them, yet a strong feeling of loneliness crept over him. It seemed ages since the boys had left him there, still it had been only a few moments.
His spirit was gradually becoming restless, and he began to wonder if there really were any such things as snowbirds, after all. He wished he was back again in the cabin by the fire. If he thought they were playing a joke on him, he would slip back to the cabin and fool them. He had half a notion to do it anyway. What was the use of his standing there? Which way was the cabin? He sighed and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was just over there, wasn't it? No, that couldn't be. It must be over yonder. The trail ran through the grove to his right. That couldn't be, the stream was over there, for he heard it every now and then. He began talking half-aloud.
"If the stream is over there, the cabin is over here." He paused and drew his hand across his eyes. "No, no, if that were true, the stream would flow uphill, and, of course, it doesn't."
Far away he heard a series of little chirps, faint but unmistakable. He was alert in an instant. Yes, that was the snowbirds, and they were coming. He wondered if Fat heard them and was ready. Where was Fat, anyway? How strange he felt, now he was almost afraid, for he was sure something was watching him. He shaded his eyes and peered into the gloom, but could see nothing. Far away in the timber it seemed to him he heard brush snapping—still he knew there was nothing bigger than a skunk or a rabbit in the whole valley. Still—and his breath came shorter; had not a mountain lion been killed on Black Mountain just day before yesterday? His imagination suggested hungry kittens searching for a lost mother, and a tremor ran over his body, making his muscles quiver. Was that a snarl? A whine far off, yet near to him? The candle slipped from his shaking fingers and fell in the snow beside him. He made a grab for it, and caught it just before it went out. The sound was now clearer. Was that the crunch of feet upon the snow? Yes, he heard it plainly. A twig snapped somewhere back of the big rock, then another, then another. There was an answering of the whine. He felt for his pocket ax; but, alas! it was at the cabin—he had no weapon, not even a jack knife. Why had Ham taken the shovel with him? Pshaw! was it really a sound at all, or was he still in his baby days? No, he was no baby, but—there it was, a low growl, coming nearer and nearer. It flashed upon him in a second—the hunters had scared up the animal, and it was coming toward him—toward the light! He felt faint, then sick; but it was no time to be sick! He swallowed at the big lump in his throat and wondered if the animal really would attack him. He could plainly hear the crunching in the snow now, and he fancied he saw two green eyes staring at him from the shadows. Yes, and there were voices! He could hear them laughing. Suddenly a twig near him broke, and another and another. He cried out in terror, shrill agonized, cries for help. He dropped the candle in the snow. Just how he got out of the hole where his feet were buried he could not tell. He started to run, but his legs were still tied to the bag, and at the first step he fell headlong. He was crying now—great sobs shook his frame. He tore the bag free with a jerk and started off as fast as the soft snow would let him, shouting "Help!" at the top of his voice. He stumbled on through the snow, following the line of least resistance. Finally he emerged from a dark thicket just in time to see three men and a great dog come out of an opposite thicket. They laughed heartily as they turned upward on the trail. The dog's eyes were gleaming green in the half-light, and the one man carried a heavy rifle on his shoulder. The dog turned, sniffed, then whined, but made no attempt to leave his masters.
The men had evidently not seen him. He stood for a second irresolute, his teeth chattering, his heart pounding, then, turning, he saw the sparks from the cabin chimney and in another moment he was safe inside.
Back in the woods where Sleepy had been planted the rest of the fellows were shouting and laughing.