“I’d have to have some snowshoes and a gun,” said Rod.
“Bet we could get them of Sawyer. You know how to shoot?”
“A little,” smiled the boy from Texas, “but I don’t know much about using snowshoes, though, watching you fellows, it seems easy enough.”
Spotty chuckled. “Try it,” he invited. “Try mine. Go ahead.”
Obligingly he slipped his toes out of the straps and stepped off into the snow. Grant was willing enough to make the trial and, wading alongside, he mounted on Spotty’s snowshoes. Having inserted his toes beneath the straps, he started off with a confidence that was soon upset, as he was himself by stepping on one snowshoe with the other, which plunged him to the full length of his arms, burying his face in the snow. Nor could he rise until he had succeeded in getting his feet free from the snowshoes, after which he floundered part way over and stood up to discover Both Davis and Lander convulsed with laughter.
“Looks easy enough, don’t it?” cried Bunk hilariously.
“Hang the things!” growled Rod, his face flushed with chagrin. “They seem contrary as an unbusted bronch. You fellows don’t have any trouble managing them.”
“There’s a little trick to it that you’ll have to learn,” explained Lander. “To begin with, those boots of yours are too stiff and heavy. You see, I’ve got on moccasins, and Spotty’s wearing some limber-soled shoes. You’ve got to lift the front end of the snowshoes with your toe and let the heel drag, slipping the shoe forward as you step, this fashion. Watch me and get wise.”
Grant watched Bunk walk around easily in a broad circle, which brought him back to the starting point.
“I see,” nodded the boy from Texas, “and I reckon I can catch onto it after a little practice. Where can I get a pair of moccasins?”