"Rabbits!" The very mention of those little animals made the boys look at each other as if asking,—
"Did you ever hunt any thing as small as a rabbit?"
The snow in the woods was deep, but it was not drifted much; and the crust was hard, except close to the trunks of the trees, and under the heavier pines and hemlocks. Walking was easy, and they pushed right on through the forest.
"How'll we ever find our way back again?" asked Port.
"Follow our own tracks," said Corry. "Besides, father and Vosh'd never dream of getting lost around here. Guess I wouldn't, either."
Port looked back at the trail they had made. He thought he could follow that. Still he would have been more sure of himself in the streets of a city, with names and numbers on all the lamp-posts at the corners.
"Keep your tempers, boys. It's hunter's luck, you know. We may not get a single shot."
The words were hardly out of the deacon's mouth, before Jack sprang suddenly forward, anxiously followed by Ponto.
"He's scented!" exclaimed Vosh. "There isn't much wind; but it's blowing this way, what there is."
"Hark! Hear him?"