“According to the way you figure how long a distance would you think we’d have to cover before we got to the creek?” asked Ethan.
“Oh! anywhere between half a mile, and three times as far,” the other told him.
“And after we reach the frozen creek,” continued Ethan, “all we have to do is to follow it down to the lake, hoping to run across the beaver village on the way.”
“Just so, and since we’ve rested and feel in good trim again, suppose we make a start right away?”
Ethan had no objections. He liked to be on the move, and besides, there may have been a lingering hope still lodged in his mind that they might happen to come upon a noble bull moose before the tramp was over. If there was one of those animals wandering around that region why not others?
So as he strode along Ethan was careful to keep in condition for business. And if by good luck they did happen on game he meant to do his type of shooting even as Phil pressed the button and featured the moose for admiring eyes at home to see.
They were heading pretty generally into the west, though it was Phil’s idea to swing around gradually, and begin to aim more for the lake. Ethan left all that to his chum. He never boasted of his ability to keep track of localities; in fact, on numerous occasions Ethan had lost himself. It was a weakness, he admitted it, and one so ambitious a hunter ought to be ashamed of; but somehow Ethan rather enjoyed the sensation of finding himself suddenly thrown on his own resources, and being compelled to find his way out of a labyrinth.
“I always did like to solve any old puzzle when I was a little kid,” he used to say when Phil took him to task for his lack of forethought in this particular, “and when you wake up to the knowledge that you’re really and truly without your bearings, seems like you had a new and intricate riddle to guess. And I haven’t starved to death yet, you notice. Guess I’ll always be able to smell my way home, one way or another.”
At the same time Ethan frankly confessed that his way was not the right one, and he did not advise any one else to copy after him. They might not enjoy the sensation like he did; or have that faculty for “smelling” home, the instinct that causes a bee to start on a straight line for the hive after loading itself up with nectar from the blossoms, even when a mile distant from home.
The cold seemed to be getting worse, if anything, and Ethan predicted that they would have a bitter night of it.