What they saw was a fat doe struggling across the center of the swamp. At every step her hoofs broke through the crust, and she was making but feeble progress. The rest of the herd had wisely swung aside into the forest, and were long since out of sight.
Their snowshoes carried the lads swiftly forward, and they were quickly within close range of the animal. Two shots were fired, and the deer rolled over lifeless.
“We’ve bagged three!” exclaimed Hamp. “Just think of it!”
“It’s a great haul,” repied Brick; “but we’re in pretty much the same fix as the man who had an elephant on his hands. How are we going to carry all this game?”
“Yes—how?” echoed Hamp.
The problem was left unsolved, for just then a hearty cheer rang on the air. The boys hurried back to the mouth of the valley, reaching there just as Jerry emerged from the bushes. His eyes opened wide with amazement when he saw the dead bucks. Then he spied the body of the doe, and simply gasped with open mouth.
“You—you fellows,” he stammered. “Why, I can hardly believe it. I thought you might knock over one between you—but three! Great Jehosaphat!”
“Oh! we’ve got it down fine,” laughed Brick. “But how did you make out?”
“I killed a good-sized doe,” replied Jerry. “It was a long-range shot, and I’m rather proud of it. I couldn’t get very close to the herd on account of the wind.”
As he spoke a rasping cry floated toward the mouth of the valley. The startled boys looked out on the swamp, but could see nothing.