Abe Turner had also informed them that should they care to indulge in the sport at any time, and should skate down to his cabin, he would show them just how it was done. What was more to the point, he had a store of live minnows in a spring-hole that never froze up, even in the hardest winter, he had been told.
This then was the object that drew the two scouts, both of them exceedingly fond of fishing in every way. None of the boys had ever fished through the ice, it happened, though they knew how it was done.
Accordingly, Tom and Jack set off down the 121 creek, their skate runners sending back that clear ringing sound that is music in the ears of every lad who loves the outdoor sports of winter.
Jack carried his gun along. Not that he had any particular intention of hunting, for others had taken that upon themselves as a part of the day’s routine, but then a deer might happen to cross their path, and such a chance if it came would be too good to lose.
“You see,” commented Tom, after a mile or so had been placed to their credit, “the snow isn’t going to bother us the least bit. And I never enjoyed skating any better than right now.”
“Same here,” Jack told him. “And we certainly couldn’t find ourselves surrounded by a prettier scene, with every twig covered with snow.”
“Listen!”
Both of them stopped when Tom called in this fashion, and strained their ears to catch a repetition of the sound Tom had heard.
“Oh! that’s only a fox barking,” said Jack. “I’ve heard them do it many a time. You know they belong to the dog family, just as the wolf and jackal and hyena do. Tolly Tip has a couple of fox pelts already, and he says they are very numerous this year. Come on, let’s be moving again.”
So they pursued their winding way down the 122 straggling creek, first turning to the right and then to the left.