“Not with my rifle butt,” answered Frank. “Get a stick and we’ll see.”
Lanky bethought himself of the hickory handle and brought it from the living room of the house in a minute, then tried the ice to see what its strength was.
It seemed to be reasonably solid. Then the boys ventured their feet on it, and the lake stood under them all right.
“Skating! This is going to be great!” cried Buster Billings, himself a good skater and a lover of the sport.
Back to the house they trudged, a happy band of boys, looking forward to some great times in the northern woods.
Having built up the fire by the addition of a log pitched by two of them on the dying embers, Frank spied a picture lying face upward on the mantel above the fireplace.
It was a snapshot photograph of a moose!
It had been taken at a range of a hundred yards, in all probability, and the big fellow was looking to one side.
On the back of the picture was written the words, “The King.”
“Look, fellows,” cried Frank. “Here is his picture—the big fellow that Mr. Van Kirk offered the reward for.”