"And now to head for home!" cried Sandy, as he took up the pack to show that he wished to do his share of the burden-carrying.
Forgotten were the aches of the night in the thought of once more rejoining those so dear to them about the family hearth, where the fire blazed in the wide-throated chimney, and the brass kettle bubbled on the hob.
They had been tramping for half an hour, steadily onward, when Bob called a halt, declaring that it was high time Sandy turned the bundle of meat over to him.
This the other was really not at all loth to do, for he had been staggering of late through the deep snow, as his burden began to tell on him. Still, not for worlds would the proud boy have confessed that he was actually tired.
Bob fashioned the hitch a little better, so that it would rest easier across his shoulder. He had just leaned forward, intending to give the bundle a sudden hoist, when he stopped in the act.
From some point not a great way off there came the sudden report of, not a musket with its heavy boom, but a hunter's clear-toned rifle.
And accompanying the sound they caught a loud voice raised in an excited shout, as though some one was striving against difficulties that threatened to overcome him.