"Don't say you haven't any! I used the last of mine on those partridges."
"Then we're done!" Peter exclaimed, and he struck his hand furiously on the breech of the empty repeater. "Not a shot between us."
They looked at one another hopelessly.
"Come, we've got to do something—or starve in the snow," said Peter, at last. "We'll hold them up, anyhow—with empty guns."
"But suppose they fire on us?" Fred asked.
"At the first move any one makes toward a gun, we'll jump for him. The cabin's too small to use rifles in, and if it comes to a rough-and-tumble, why, we'll just have to keep our end up. But I don't think it will come to that. We'll have them bluffed."
Certainly it seemed a long chance to take, but, as Peter said, it was better than starving in the snow. They laid down the partridges, and began to move toward the cabin.
"Take the axe, if it's by the door, Fred," Macgregor advised. "You'll go first, and open the door. We'll aim over your shoulders. And remember, at the first hostile movement, jump for them with clubbed rifles and the axe."
They went on, rather slowly. The cabin came in view, with no one in sight, and they made a détour through the hemlocks so as to get as close to the door as possible without showing themselves.
"Now for it!" muttered Macgregor.