The distance to the upper end of the lake was considerable, and the day was far advanced when we reached it. As we took to the land the covey of ptarmigan, which had preceded us to the place, again rose. This time, however, we were prepared for them. Lumley shot a brace right and left, taking the two last that rose with sportsman-like precision. I confess that I am not a particularly good shot—never was—and have not much of the sportsman’s pride about me. I fired straight into the centre of the dense mass of birds, six of which immediately fell upon the snow.
“What a lot of flukes!” exclaimed my companion, with a laugh, as he recharged.
“Luck before precision, any day!” said I, following his example.
“Ay, Max, but there is this difference, that luck is rather uncertain, whereas precision is always sure.”
“Well, be that as it may,” said I putting on my snow-shoes, for the snow in the wood we were about to enter was deep and soft, “we have enough for a good supper at all events.”
“True, and we shall need a good supper, for we must camp out. There is no chance of our finding this treasure—even if it exists—until we have had a good search, and then it will be too late to return home with comfort, or even safety, for it is difficult on a dark night to distinguish tracks on the hard snow of a lake, as I’ve sometimes found to my cost.”
We set up several other coveys of ptarmigan as we traversed the belt of willows lying between the lake and the woods, and when we entered the latter, several grouse, of a species that takes to trees, fluttered away from us; but we did not molest them, having already more than we could consume swinging at our belts.
We went straight up the valley to what we deemed the most sequestered part of it, and then paused.
“This looks somewhat like the spot, doesn’t it?” said Lumley, glancing round. “Yonder is a cliff with rocks at the base of it.”
“Yes, but too many rocks,” said I; “the paper mentions only one; besides, it refers to a stunted pine, and I see nothing of that sort here.”