However, there was little doubt that there was a moose bull at Old Moose Lake that was a leader and a fighter, and that he had been sought by many huntsmen before themselves.
“I don’t want you to think,” said Frank, “that we came up to get this moose. We came up for a camp—to fish and hunt and do anything else that happens to suit the occasion. We’re just out for some fun. It was Mr. Van Kirk who told us about the moose,” and here Frank told of the prize which had been offered.
“There’s plenty of fishing up there, but the lake will be frozen over by to-morrow or the next day. It’s getting mighty cold, you know,” said one of the guides. “Which trail are you going to follow?”
The boys said they had been told of two trails.
“That’s right. Two trails. One of them’s around the mountains and the other is right through the hills. The short one is through the hills, saves about ten miles. But with all the snow that’s falling outside I doubt if you can go through.”
Frank smiled pleasantly at this and suggested that not much snow could fall between now and the next morning—certainly not enough to stop them from going through the mountain trail.
“Don’t know about that. I’ve seen some mighty heaps of snow fall overnight,” said the guide who appeared to be the more talkative of the two. “Liable to be enough fall to-night to fill the trails, and the only way is to be guided over.”
Frank could not see that. He was not up here to hire guides for a little camping expedition. However, he did not voice his opinions.
An hour’s talk followed supper, and then Frank and his chums turned in, asking that they be called early the next morning.
There was a rough boathouse at Todds and Frank had made arrangements to have the Rocket taken to this shelter and hoisted up out of the water. He had brought along a big tarpaulin, and this was to be roped over the craft.