"Hank often goes out hunting by jacklight," interposed Havens. "He has a lamp in front of his boat, and a reflector sends the light an awful way ahead. Well—moose and deer are fond of feeding on lily-pads and grasses near the shore, and every once in a while he runs across 'em."
"Should think they would scoot away like sixty," said Dick.
"They don't. The light sort of blinds them and they can't see the hunter."
"Wal, lad," continued Hank Merwin, "kin ye take a picter by that 'ere light?"
"You just bet I can," cried the official photographer, enthusiastically. "I've got a lot of flashlight powder, and it will be as easy as rolling off a log. Thanks awfully, Hank. Snap-shots by jacklight sounds fine, eh, Bob?"
"Right you are."
"Wal, whenever you takes the notion, look me up," said Hank, "but you'd best wait 'til thar ain't no moon."
Dick Travers was delighted at the prospect, and the others were no less pleased.
After supper, sitting before a pleasant fire, Hank Merwin, who had taken a great fancy to the boys, related many thrilling incidents in his life as a trapper. The moon rose above the belt of timber, enveloping the landscape in its pale greenish light; the whispering breeze brought with it many strange sounds from the forest, and, as the fire crackled and glowed, sending up showers of dancing sparks, the boys were more and more charmed with life in the open.