Not long afterward the three men were standing in the snow, without rifles or any other paraphernalia, all of which they were forced to leave at their own camp, while the boys waved a good-bye to them, wishing them well.
“We’ll bring your rifles in when we come, and I’ll send them to you at Bellport,” called Frank as they left.
The men paid no heed to the remark. Off through the trail they started, disappearing in a short while into the snow-backed scenery.
Eight husky young fellows of varying builds, but all athletic, all lovers of the out-of-doors, four of them just up to seek whatever adventure there might be, the other four being looked upon as practiced old woodsmen because they already had had several days at the camp, took seats around the roaring log fire, and the four newcomers listened intently to the tales which the others had to tell of their experiences.
The plans for the morrow had yet to be discussed—not a word had been said. The new boys wished to know what was to be the program, leaving it to the four old-timers, as they termed themselves, to say what adventures should be in store.
“I rather think we ought to organize a hunt for the big moose,” said Frank, when they turned to him for a suggestion.
“That’s the idea—and I’ll get another picture!” called out Paul. “I have one fine one and I want another. I’ll get it while you fellows do the shooting. That will be proof of the pudding!”
Once more the boys told the four newcomers about the battle they had witnessed, describing it minutely, inducing in the minds of the four recent arrivals a warm desire to see the animal.
The time for bed had approached, as told both by the weary yawns of the boys and also by the alarm clock. It was decided they should get out early in the morning, in order to get across the lake to see whether they could get a trace of the moose.
Already they had decided on saving some of the venison for their return to Columbia in order that they might have something to exhibit as evidence of their prowess in the woods.