"You're too fresh, Tadpole," warned Hackett. "Mind, now!"
His long arm swept around in a circle, but Dick, with a grin, jumped nimbly aside.
In the hope of striking big game, they pushed on, sometimes being compelled to fairly force their way through dense masses of underbrush or interlacing branches. The chattering red squirrels and rabbits which occasionally darted for cover were unmolested.
Wild flowers grew on grassy banks, bright bits of moss gleamed in the sunlight, while cool and grateful shadows afforded relief from Old Sol's rays.
"I only wish we could see a wildcat or a wolf," said John Hackett, boastfully. "My little friend, would you run?" he asked, turning to Tom Clifton.
"Not with a mighty hunter like you around," responded the lad, and even "Hatchet" joined in the laugh that followed.
On the crest of a hill, they saw a stretch of water in the valley below them, its mirror-like surface reflecting the mottled sky. It was a lake, apparently about a half mile long.
"We ought to be stirring up some game pretty soon now," observed Bob Somers; "but I suppose we shall have to satisfy ourselves with the next size smaller than a bear."
They partly plunged into the woods again, descending by slow degrees until they were near the water. To their chagrin, they found it surrounded by cliffs and huge boulders making progress so difficult that a long detour was necessary. After an hour's hard tramping, the party succeeded in rounding the nearest end of the sheet of water, where they were obliged to halt for rest and refreshment.
The way now became less difficult. There were numerous open spaces and many bits of marsh-land which promised game of some kind, but their explorations were not rewarded.