"I say," he continued, as Walter threw open the furnace door and raked out the blazing billets of wood with an iron rake, "it's only nine o'clock. What do you say if we go off on a little hunt for the balance of the day? It's likely to be the last chance we will have in many months."
"I'll go you," Walter agreed. "That is, provided the Captain does not need any help."
They found the Captain with his task nearly completed. "No, you can't help me any," he said. "The niggers will have everything done by noon. Go on and have your fun, lads, but be careful, and be sure to get back by dark."
The boys sought their tents, and got out their guns and game bags. By the time they were ready Chris had a lunch wrapped up for them, and they struck out into the open woods, with Bob, the dog, gamboling in front of them.
"Why, you have brought your rifle along with you," Walter exclaimed, noting his comrade's gun.
"Yes; one shotgun is enough," said his friend; "and I am in hopes that we may run on to some big game. I've seen plenty of signs of deer lately."
"I'll be contented if I can get a good bag of quail."
"Oh, you'll get them, all right," said McCarty confidently. "The woods are full of them, and Bob is as good a bird dog as there is in the State of Florida. Look, he is at it already."
As if to justify the compliment paid him, Bob had stopped in front of a little oak thicket, and stood with head thrust forward and tail sticking straight out. He waited patiently in this attitude for the lads to approach.
"Get your gun ready, and I'll scare them up for you," McCarty said. "If you are not used to shooting on the wing just aim at the flock and blaze away when they rise."