“Boys,” he decided, “we’d better pitch camp here for a while, until we can bag some game. My suggestion is that each of us start off in a different direction. We must keep track of the time and be sure to get back to camp by dark. The chances are that at least one of us will be successful.”
“It’s hunt or starve,” agreed Sandy. “Which way do you want me to go?”
“Toma had better try his luck here in the creek valley,” said Dick, “because game is apt to be more plentiful here and he’s the best hunter. You and I can make our way into the hills, keeping about half a mile apart. Shoot anything at all that has meat on its bones,” and he winked slyly at Toma.
“I could eat a skunk and like it,” groaned Sandy. “By the way, before we start don’t you think we’d better divide that bacon?”
With a queer, inexplicable feeling, Dick produced the last morsels of food from their packs and divided them carefully. If he gave Sandy a little more than an equal portion, no one, with the possible exception of a tiny sparrow perched on a branch overhead, could have noticed it. They ate in silence, and in silence they arose immediately after their inadequate meal and started off for the hunt.
“I don’t think I’ll ever see anything,” Dick muttered to himself, “or if I do the chances are that the pesky thing will get away. Hang it all, why did Govereau, or whoever it was, have to find that cache?”
Dick’s mood brightened a few minutes later as he came up through the autumn sunshine to the foot of a slope, thickly covered with stunted pine. It looked like a very good hiding place for ptarmigan, or possibly even deer. He unslung his rifle and went forward as cautiously as he could, one finger hovering close to the trigger of his gun.
But, after an hour’s slow progress, Dick had begun to lose hope. He had seen nothing. Apparently the forest was as devoid of all animal life as a city street. Except for a hawk, circling lazily about high overhead, there was neither bird nor beast anywhere in that lonely stretch of wilderness.
Mopping his perspiring brow, the young hunter finally sat down for a moment’s rest, before continuing his course to the top of a high ridge.
Then an abrupt, totally unexpected crackling in the heavy Saskatoon thicket ahead caused him to start—almost in wonderment. His breath came quickly. He half rose, then fearing, that even his slightest sound might spoil everything, he sank down again, his left hand nursing the cold, blue barrel of his Ross rifle.