He moved forward a few feet, then his mouth flew open, but no sound came out. Had he seen a white streak flit across the snow? He had. There was another and another.
Slowly he backed away. Followed reluctantly by the dog, he retreated to the rocky shelf where lay the net.
"We may be able to use you yet," he remarked as he picked up an end of the net. "If you're not too rotten, you'll serve us a good turn. There are ptarmigan out there. Don't know how many, but enough if we catch them. Ptarmigan are good too," he smiled at the dog, "good as quail and about as plump. Boy, Oh, boy! won't we feast though if only we can catch them? But," he sobered suddenly, "how I'm going to drop both ends of this net at just the right moment is more than I can tell."
The net proved to be in serviceable condition. It was some ten yards by three wide and was of a finely woven mesh. Two ten-foot poles lay farther back under the ledge. One of these was quickly attached to an end of the net, then the net wound upon it. The second stake was fastened to the remaining loose end.
Carrying the net to a level stretch at the top of a ridge, he unrolled it, then for a full five minutes stood studying it. At last he turned thoughtfully to the right and strolled along the net. Suddenly something caught his foot and he sprawled upon the ground.
Rising, he looked at the thing that had tripped him. Then a light of joy spread over his face.
"Creeping willows!" he exclaimed. "The very thing!"
He spent the next three minutes pulling at long strands of creeping willows. When he had found two long, strong ones, he left them still fast to earth at one end and went for his net. One pole he set on end and proceeded to fasten it there by the aid of the creeping willows, guying it to right and left, as a flag-pole is often braced. He then ran out the length of his net and, having pulled it tight, with the other pole perpendicular, he gave this pole a sudden pull and twist, then threw it to the ground. The net went flat.
"Capital!" he cried. "That will do it."
Having reset his net he took a long, circular route; he came up at last a hundred yards from his fence-like net. The dog had followed meekly at his heels, but now, seeming to sense what was needed, he began rocking back and forth, first to the right, then to the left. Now and then a white spot rose a foot or two above the snow to soar forward. The boy's eyes snapped. Here was sport that meant life to him and to his dog if they won.