XIII
A NIGHT IN THE OPEN
THERE was no time to be lost. The long northern twilight was already waning. Hastened by the storm, darkness would come early.
“The Injuns get caught out this way often enough, when they’re huntin’,” said Andy, by way of self-comfort. “They finds a way to make out. They just gets a place in th’ lee, where th’ wind can’t strike un, and puts on a good fire. That’s all they ever does. But,” he continued doubtfully, “they’re used to un, and I never stopped out without a tent, whatever.”
Bivouacking in a blizzard, with a thirty-degrees-below temperature and no blankets or other protection, was an emergency Andy had never before been called upon to meet. Now he turned to it uncertainly.
Reconnoitering he discovered, near at hand, a large fallen tree, partly covered by the snow. Close to the butt of the fallen tree stood a big, thickly foliaged spruce tree, the outer ends of its branches bending so low that the tips were enveloped by the deep snow.
“’Twill make a shelter, whatever!” exclaimed Andy, encouraged. “A little fixin’, and maybe ’twon’t be so bad, in under the branches. They’ll make a cover from the snow.”
With his ax he at once cut off the limbs of the spruce tree on the side next the fallen trunk. This made an opening that would serve as a door. Under the arching branches was a circular space, thatched above by foliage. Removing one of his snowshoes, and utilizing it as a shovel, he cleared the space of snow. Then donning his snowshoes again he cut several branches, which he thatched upon the overhanging limbs of the tree, thus increasing the protection of his cover from fresh drift. This done, he banked snow high against the branches around the entire circle, save at the opening facing the fallen tree.
Now breaking a quantity of boughs and arranging them as a floor for his improvised shelter, he made a comfortable bed.
The next consideration was wood, and fortunately there was no lack of this. Everywhere about, as is usual in primordial forests, were dead trees, that would burn readily. Andy selected three that were perhaps six inches thick at the butt, and not too large for him to handle easily. These he felled with his ax, trimmed off the branches, and cutting the logs into convenient lengths for burning, piled them at one side of the entrance to his shelter. He now chopped into small firewood a quantity of the branches, adding them to his reserve supply of fuel.
Again using a snowshoe as a shovel, he cleared the snow from the butt of the fallen tree, which he had decided should be the back log of his fire. This done, he split a quantity of small kindling wood. He now secured a handful of the long, hairy moss that hangs close to the limbs and trunks of spruce trees in the northern forest, and using it as tinder quickly lighted his fire against the back log. Leaning over it to protect it from falling snow until the carefully placed kindling wood was well ablaze, he added pieces of smaller branches, and finally sticks of the larger wood. Then, with a sigh of relief, Andy drew back under the cover of his shelter to test the efficiency of his efforts.
Almost immediately a genial warmth began to pervade the interior of the cave beneath the tree. The fire crackled and blazed cheerfully. The thick thatching of boughs proved an excellent protection from the snow and such wind as penetrated the depths of the forest. The success of the experiment was assured.
It was quite dark now, but Andy, for the present at least, was safe and comfortable enough. Quick planning, energetic action, and instinctive resourcefulness, had saved him from the terrible blizzard that was sweeping over the marsh and lashing through the tops of the forest trees with growing fury.
Andy sat lax and limp for a little while. He had worked with almost frenzied exertion. Now he felt like one who had but just, and barely, escaped a great peril. Presently he drew off his outer adiky, shook the snow from it, and drawing it on again proceeded to arrange himself comfortably.
“’Tis almost as snug as the tilt,” he said presently. “Pop were right when he says there’s no fix too big to get out of, if you goes about un right. If I’d kept scared, and hadn’t tried, I’d perished, and now I’m safe whilst I ’bides here. If I only had something t’ eat!”
Comfort is comparative. What might be a severe hardship under some circumstances might become the height of luxury and comfort under others. Andy’s retreat appealed to him now, after his battle with the storm, as most luxurious and comfortable. The wind howling and shrieking through the treetops brought to the lad’s ears a constant reminder of what might have been his fate, and served to add to the snugness of the shelter and cozy cheerfulness of the fire.
Now that he was safe from the storm for the time being, his thoughts turned to David. He did not know how far David was in advance of him. He had no doubt he had hurried on to the spruce grove, and not finding him there had set out for the tilt, but he could never have reached it before the storm broke.
This thought rendered Andy miserable. His imagination pictured David stark and frozen out on the storm beaten marsh. His misery grew almost to anguish until, in his better judgment, he reasoned that, like himself, David must have taken refuge in the forest, and that David knew better than he how to protect himself. Then he remembered Doctor Joe’s song, and accompanied by the roar of wind overhead, sang in a subdued voice:
“The worst of my foes are worries and woes,
And all about troubles that never come true.
And all about troubles that never come true.”
This comforted him, and when he had finished he said, decisively:
“There’s no use worrying about something that I don’t know has happened, and the most of th’ things we worries about never does happen. I’ll just think that Davy’s safe and sound in the tilt, or snug and safe somewhere in the green woods. And like as not, too, he’s worryin’ about me.”
With this determination Andy replenished the fire, and, with his feet toward it, stretched out upon the boughs to sleep. “The Lard took care o’ Davy and me last evenin’ when th’ wolves chased us,” he mused. “They were close t’ gettin’ us but th’ Lard made Davy’s rifle shoot th’ right time. I’m thinkin’ now He didn’t just save us t’ leave Davy t’ perish in th’ snow. He’ll take care o’ Davy whatever.”
This was the logic of his simple faith. It soothed him and quieted his fears. Weary enough he was, for the day’s work had been hard and trying and presently he slept. Several times during the night he was awakened by the cold, when the fire burned low, and each time he huddled close to the blaze until his half congealed blood was warmed and the camp regained its comfort. Then he would lie down again to fall asleep with the shriek and roar of wind in his ears.
Finally he awoke to find that the wind had lost much of its force, and looking upward through the treetops he saw the glimmer of a star. The cold had grown more intense. His feet and hands were numb. He piled some of the small branch wood upon the coals and as it burst into flame added some of the larger sticks.
“It must be comin’ mornin’, and th’ storm’s about blown over,” he said thankfully, listening for the wind, when he sat down again. “I’m thinkin’, now, ’twill soon be clear of shiftin’ snow on th’ mesh, and soon as I’m warmed I’ll see how ’tis, whatever.”
Despite his resolution not to worry, Andy was far from satisfied of David’s safety. Now as he sat by the fire he began again to picture David lying out on the marsh somewhere, stark and dead. The longer Andy permitted his mind to dwell upon the possibility of such a tragedy having taken place, the more probable it seemed. The snow-clad forest had never been so grim and silent. A foreboding of some horrible tragedy was in his heart. He could restrain himself no longer.
The numbness was hardly yet out of his hands and feet when he hurriedly arose, put on his snowshoes, shouldered his rifle, and picking up his ax, rushed out into the dim-lit forest to grope his way through trees to the marsh.
Fitful gusts of wind were still blowing over the marsh, driving the snow in little swirling clouds. Light clouds lay in patches against the sky, and between them the stars shone with cold, metallic brilliance.
Andy could see clearly enough here. The wind was in his back, and taking a short cut, that would reduce the distance by nearly half, he swung out at a trot toward the tilt. He would look there first, and if David were not in the tilt he would follow the trail back to the spruce grove.
XIV
A MAN’S GAME
BY the short cut over the marsh it was not far to the tilt. At the end of a half hour’s steady running Andy reached the woods that bordered the western side of the marsh. It was here, at the edge of the forest, that he and David had parted the previous morning.
The storm had obliterated every trace of their snowshoe tracks, but Andy stooped to hastily search, in the dim starlight, for some recent sign of David’s passing. There was no sign, and in feverish anxiety to reach the tilt he tried to run, but in the shadows of the trees he collided with overhanging limbs, and was compelled to pick his way more slowly. Presently his sharp eyes made out, through an opening, the stovepipe, rising above the drift which marked the position of the tilt.
It was now that silent, dark hour just before dawn. Andy was sure that if David was there he would be up, preparing to set out with the first hint of light. If he were up he would have a fire in the stove, and smoke would be issuing from the pipe. Between hope and fear Andy’s heart almost stopped beating. He peered intently, but could see no smoke. He hurried on, and a few steps farther the stovepipe was thrown out in silhouette against the sky, and rising from it was a thin curl. There was fire in the stove! David was there!
“Davy! Davy! Davy!” Andy shouted, half sobbing, with the break of the nervous strain.
The door of the tilt opened, and David, bareheaded and wildly excited, came rushing out.
“Oh, Andy! Andy! Is you safe?” he cried, passing his arm around Andy’s shoulder in a depth of affection and passionate relief, and drawing Andy into the warm tilt, while Andy made a brave effort to restrain his tears.
“Oh, Davy!” broke in Andy, half crying with joy. “I were fearin’ for you so! I were thinkin’ of you out there—in th’ mesh—dead! And oh, Davy, I were—afraid—afraid for you!”
“And I were afraid for you, Andy!” choked David. “I were never doubtin’ you were lost and perished! I couldn’t sleep for thinkin’ of un, and I couldn’t go to look for you with th’ drift and darkness! I just had t’ ’bide here till day broke! I tries and tries t’ go, but th’ drift drove me back, and I knows I’ll have t’ wait for day.”
While Andy removed his outer garments and David prepared breakfast, Andy described his experiences, and how he had made his shelter.
“Doctor Joe’s song helped me a wonderful lot,” said he. “It’s turned out t’ be a true song, too. We were both safe, and there wasn’t anything for either of us t’ worry about after all. And, Davy, I kept my grit, now, didn’t I?”
“That you did!” declared David admiringly. “Even Indian Jake or Pop couldn’t have fixed out a better place t’ ’bide till th’ storm passed.”
“Davy,” said Andy reverently, “I’m thinkin’ th’ Lard were lookin’ out for us, now, weren’t he, Davy? And—Davy—maybe Mother was lookin’ out for us, too!”
“Aye,” said David, “th’ Lard were lookin’ out for us, and I’m not doubtin’ Mother was near, and helpin’ us, too.”
While they ate their breakfast David told of his own experiences.
“After I runs on th’ deer footin’ crossin’ th’ path,” he explained, “I sets right out t’ get you, Andy. But all at once I thinks that, th’ footin’ being fresh, th’ deer is like as not ’bidin’ right handy, and if I loses time goin’ for you I might miss un. So I turns back and goes after un.”
“I sees where they makes a turn and gets scared, but I weren’t thinkin’ o’ wolves, and I keeps hurryin’ on. I must have been right handy to un when I hears a wolf howl, and right after that I comes t’ th’ place where th’ deer turned down toward th’ mesh again and th’ wolf tracks came in. Then I knows they’re gone, and there’s no use keepin’ after un.
“I turns down then by a short cut t’ th’ next trap beyond where I leaves th’ trail t’ turn into th’ green woods. Snow were just beginnin’ t’ spit as I comes out on th’ mesh.”
“It were just beginnin’ t’ spit,” broke in Andy, “as I goes in th’ woods.”
“You must have turned into th’ woods t’ th’ westward of where I comes out, and that’s why I didn’t see you,” suggested David.
“When I gets t’ our trail I sees your footin’ comin’ this way. Th’ snow wasn’t enough yet t’ cover un, so I could tell ’twas fresh footin’. I says t’ myself, ‘Andy’s got hungry and tired waitin’ for me, and he’s gone back t’ th’ tilt. He’s tended th’ traps t’ th’ east’ard, and I’ll take a short cut.”
“I didn’t hurry, and before I gets out of th’ mesh snow was comin’ thick and th’ wind was rising, and it was gettin’ pretty nasty on th’ mesh.
“When I gets t’ th’ tilt and finds you’re not here I’m thinkin’ you’ve just been a bit slow, and that you’ll be along soon.
“So I puts a fire on and boils th’ kettle. When th’ kettle boils and you don’t come, I puts on my ’diky and goes out t’ th’ mesh t’ look. I never saw th’ wind rise th’ way she had in that little while. It took me off my feet and sent me flat when I tries t’ face un. Then I knows I can’t go on th’ mesh t’ look for you, and I knows you can’t stay there and live.
“I was scared! I tries four or five times t’ get out t’ look for you, Andy, but I has t’ give un up.”
“I’m thinkin’ you couldn’t go far in that drift!” exclaimed Andy. “I tried un too, and she knocked me flat.”
“Well,” concluded David, “that was all I could do, except t’ pray th’ Lard t’ spare your life, Andy. I had t’ ’bide here, and ’twas th’ hardest night I ever spent, waitin’ here alone for day t’ come so’s I could look for you, and sore afraid for you, Andy. ’Twas your grit, b’y, that pulled you through.”
“And I tries,” said Andy, “t’ keep a stout heart like a man’s, but at th’ end, when I was most t’ th’ tilt, I had t’—give in.”
“You kept a wonderful stout heart, Andy,” David declared admiringly. “I’d have given up before you did, I knows. I’m doubtin’ I ever could have made th’ fine shelter you made, too.”
While the storm had probably not covered the marten traps, perched as they were upon high stumps, and under cover of the woods, the exposed fox traps on the marsh were doubtless all clogged by drift, and would be ineffective unless cleared. The cross fox, too, which Andy had killed and left in the trap, must be secured. It was deemed advisable, therefore, to attend to these duties at once.
It was full daylight when the boys set out upon their day’s work. The wind had settled now into a cold, cutting breeze, which was disagreeable enough but which did not interfere with rapid walking. They scanned the marsh for signs of the caribou but no evidences were found. With wolves on their trail the caribou had doubtless fled the country, and with them, immediate prospects of fresh venison.
“’Twere too bad we missed un,” David deplored. “I was almost to un, I knows, when th’ wolves started in. I wish we could get some deer’s meat.”
With every day the wilderness was becoming more naked and stern and repellant. In the forest the snow had risen until it reached and enveloped the lower limbs of the trees. Ravines were nearly filled with snow. Willow brush, forming barriers around the marshes, were now quite hidden by great drifts, and rose in mighty ramparts of snow. The business of following the fur trails was growing more difficult with every round of the traps. But the depths of winter had not yet been reached. In the weeks to come the grip of Arctic cold was to tighten still harder and harder upon the bleak wilderness and the living things that occupied it. The two lads had a man’s game to play, and they were to have need enough of all the grit they possessed.
XV
A DAY ON THE ICE
SAVE on rare occasions Indian Jake was silent, and it seemed to the boys sullen. He had told them little of his success on the trail, or whether or not his hunt was good. But when they appeared at the Narrows tilt and told of their adventures with the wolves and with the storm, his stoic Indian reserve vanished for the evening. He asked many questions. He appeared deeply concerned and wished to know of their daily experiences, and details of the furs they had accumulated in the other tilts.
“You’re making a fine hunt,” he complimented. “As fine a hunt as your father could have made.”
“We’ve got a fine lot o’ fur,” admitted David, with just pride, “but we been hopin’ for a silver fox.”
“That isn’t strange,” and the half-breed smiled, in his peculiar way. “Every hunter is looking for a silver fox all the time, but not many get ’em.”
“If we don’t get un,” said David, “Andy and me have made a good hunt anyhow, and we won’t be complainin’ about un.”
“That we have,” seconded Andy.
“A fine hunt,” agreed Indian Jake.
“How have you been doin’, Jake?” asked David “You never say much about un.”
“Not so bad,” admitted Indian Jake.
“Have you got much fur?” persisted David.
“Oh, I’ve got some. I been thinkin’,” suggested Indian Jake, turning the subject, as he always did, from himself to the boys, “that you lads better bring all your furs from the other tilts down here to the Narrows tilt.”
“Maybe ’twould be a good plan,” David agreed.
“Yes,” continued Indian Jake, “and then you’ll have it all together.”
“’Twill make a fine showin’ when we has un all together,” enthused David.
“Yes,” said Indian Jake, “and we can go over it together and see what it’s worth.”
“We’ll fetch un all down here next trip,” agreed David. “I’d like t’ see un all laid out together.”
“And every trip you’d better bring down what you catch,” suggested Indian Jake. “It’s better to keep all your fur in one place.”
“Aye,” said David, “I’m thinkin’ ’tis better.”
“And will you be bringin’ all your fur here too?” asked Andy.
“No,” answered Indian Jake, “it’s better to keep ’em separate. If I had mine here we might be gettin’ ’em mixed, and we wouldn’t know which was which. I’ll keep mine up to my first tilt.”
“I’m thinkin’ we’d know all our fur,” persisted Andy. “I don’t see how we’d be like t’ get un mixed.”
“There’s no tellin’ but we would, though,” persisted Indian Jake.
“Davy and I knows our fur,” insisted Andy. “We’ve looked at un so many times, and counted out th’ price they’ll be like t’ bring, we’d know un anywhere.”
“We’ll be gettin’ more fur,” David explained, “and we may not be able t’ tell all til’ new fur like we do that we got now.”
“No,” said Indian Jake, “nobody can remember all the fur he gets. I can’t tell all mine so I’d know ’em, if they were with others.”
“Davy and I could tell ours,” again insisted Andy; “th’ new uns just like th’ old uns, no matter how many we gets.”
“We won’t mix ’em,” and Indian Jake spoke with finality. “I’ll leave mine up at my first tilt.”
“Aye, that will be best, Andy,” said David. “Jake’s right about un. Then we’ll just have ours here, and we’ll know all we has here is ours, and Jake’ll have his separate, and know all he has is his.”
Thus the argument ended. No further reference was made to the matter until several weeks later, when David and Andy recalled it vividly, and the earnestness with which Indian Jake had urged his point.
This was in mid-December, and in accordance with the suggestion the boys brought the furs to the Narrows tilt the following Friday. Indian Jake examined them with eagerness. He was interested for their sake in their success, the boys were sure, and this pleased them. In spite of his periods of sullenness, and his reticence, the boys liked him and had faith in him.
“It is a fine catch of fur,” declared Indian Jake, when he had carefully inspected each pelt. “Your father’ll be proud of you! With what more you’ll get before we strike up th’ traps in th’ spring, there’ll be plenty to pay for th’ little lad’s cure.”
“Do you think so, now?” asked David eagerly.
“I’m sure of it,” declared Indian Jake. “You lads have made a fine hunt. ’Twould be a fine hunt for any man, and an old hunter, too.”
“And we’re like t’ get as many more, whatever, ain’t we?” asked Andy enthusiastically.
“Yes,” said Indian Jake, “and they’ll be prime for some time yet, and bring th’ top price.”
The boys were made happy indeed by Indian Jake’s commendation and valuation of their furs. Indian Jake had a keen eye for furs. He was an acknowledged judge, and his valuation could be relied upon. They never questioned this. It imbued them with new fervor and ambition for their work. It made the toil of it appear less formidable. Thus it is always in life. A word of praise and commendation will often lighten another’s burden beyond measure. And success breeds desire for greater success. The higher one climbs, the higher one wishes to climb.
The survey of the pelts placed Indian Jake in a most amiable mood that evening. It was one of the occasions when he threw off his too frequent attitude of sullen silence. He chatted with the boys and told them tales of personal adventure and experiences, while he smoked. Indeed he had never been so companionable.
“Well, lads,” said he at length, “it’s time t’ turn in. I’m thinkin’ I’ll try for some fish tomorrow. I’m gettin’ hungry for fish, and they’s plenty of ’em in th’ lake. We may’s well have some.”
“Can we get un through th’ ice?” asked David eagerly.
“We can make a try for it,” said Indian Jake, knocking the ashes from his pipe and filling the stove with wood, preparatory to “turning in.”
Accordingly, the following morning after they had eaten breakfast, Indian Jake produced some fish hooks and a cod line from his personal kit, and while David and Andy washed dishes he cut the cod line into three lengths of about thirty feet. To each of these he attached a hook, and just above the hook a leaden snicker. Then, winding the lines separately and neatly upon sticks, he detached several small strips of rind from a piece of pork and baited the hooks. The additional strips of rind he wrapped in a piece of cloth, and thrust them into his pocket.
“There’s the fishing outfit all ready; one for each of us,” he announced, laying them aside. “There’s no use goin’, though, till light. They’s plenty of time.”
“Will we get trout?” asked David.
“No,” said Indian Jake. “Whitefish, maybe. Namaycush, maybe. Maybe nothin’ but pike. And maybe nothin’ at all.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Andy expectantly. “I’ve heard Pop tell about gettin’ wonderful big namaycush out’n th’ lakes!”
“I’ve seen ’em,” said Indian Jake, “that would go upwards of forty pound. And I’ve heard of ’em running close to sixty pound.”
“Did you ever get any in Seal Lake like that?” asked David excitedly.
“No; not in Seal Lake,” admitted Indian Jake. “But they’re here, and we’re like t’ get ’em. I’ve been thinkin’ that tomorrow week will be Christmas, and if we could get some fish ’twould make a fine change for Christmas dinner from pa’tridges and rabbits.”
“’Twould that!” enthused David. “I’m wonderful hungry for fish, too. But I was forgettin’ about Christmas. Up here on th’ trails I never thinks of un at all.”
“We’ll have t’ fix up a good feed for Christmas,” declared Indian Jake, “and we’ll make it out somehow. Even if ’tis only fish.”
As soon as it was light, and long before sunrise, the three with their improvised fishing tackle, and each carrying his ax, set forth upon Seal Lake. Indian Jake led the way to a point a half mile from the tilt, and directly above the Narrows.
“We’ll cut our holes here,” he announced. “Spread out a little and don’t cut ’em too near together.”
It was no small task. A coating of hard-packed snow was first removed. Then came the ice, which was now over three feet in thickness. The holes when finished were three feet in diameter at the top, tapering down to a foot and a half at the bottom like a funnel.
“Now,” said Indian Jake when all was ready, “we’ll see whether we’re goin’t’ get any fish.”
David’s baited hook had hardly sunk below the surface of the water when he felt a tug, and an instant later he drew out a whitefish that he was quite sure weighed four pounds at the very least. A little later Indian Jake drew out another, and almost at the same moment Andy gave a shout as he landed still another.
“Looks like we’re goin’ t’ get whitefish, whatever,” said Indian Jake.
Standing still upon the open ice soon became cold and disagreeable work. The lines quickly became encrusted with a thick coating of ice, and it was necessary to keep them moving up and down in the hole, else the water would freeze at once. Even then they must clear away the accumulated ice frequently.
With the rising sun a breeze sprang up from the west to add to the discomfort, and presently Indian Jake, unhooking a whitefish, asked:
“How many fish you got, lads?”
“I’ve got four fine ones,” David announced.
“I’ve got three,” said Andy.
“I’ve got three, and that makes ten,” calculated Indian Jake. “That’s all we’ll use this week and next week and th’ week after. They’s no need standin’ here and freezin’, and we might as well go back t’ th’ tilt. Pull in, boys, and we’ll go.”
Indian Jake and David drew in their lines, and proceeded to clear them of ice, but Andy, with his still in the water hole, was making no preparation to leave.
“Come, Andy,” David shouted. “Jake and me are ’most ready to go.”
“I can’t,” answered Andy. “My hook’s snagged on something, and I can’t pull un in.”
“Let me try her,” said Indian Jake, who had wound his line, and was picking up the frozen fish and dropping them into an empty flour bag he had brought for the purpose.
“Here, try un,” and Andy surrendered the line to Indian Jake, just as the line gave a mighty tug.
“Why, you’ve got a fish on there!” exclaimed Indian Jake. “He’s as big as a porpoise, too, whatever he is!”
Vastly excited, the lads watched Indian Jake manipulate the line, drawing the fish nearer and nearer the hole.
“He’s most t’ th’ hole!” cried David, no less excited than Andy. “Watch out now! Watch, now! You’re gettin’ he, Jake!”
“There he is!” shouted Andy, when, a moment later, the head of an immense fish appeared at the end of the line in the water hole.
“Here!” directed Jake. “You lads take th’ line and hold steady! Don’t jerk; just keep a steady pull! Don’t let it slip back any!”
David and Andy seized the line as directed, and held tight. Indian Jake, regardless of the cold, threw off his right mitten, drew his sheath knife from his belt, and leaning far over the hole drove it with a hard, quick blow into the top of the fish’s head. Then flinging the knife out upon the ice, he plunged his hand into the water, slipped his fingers under the gills of the fish, and drew it out upon the ice. Then without a moment’s delay he thrust his hand under his adiky to dry it, and prevent its freezing.
“That’s one of ’em,” he said coolly. “That’s a namaycush, and a forty pounder if he’s anything.”
Of course Andy was proud, though he did not claim all the credit of catching the big namaycush. The glory of such a fish was quite enough, in his estimation, to be distributed among the three.
“Now we’ll have fish for half th’ winter, whatever!” he declared.
“That we will, now!” said David.
“And good eatin’, too,” said Indian Jake, recovering his mitten. “There’s no better eatin’ than namaycush.”
With his sheath knife Indian Jake severed the head, cut open the fish, and cleaned it.
“Now ’twon’t be so heavy to carry,” he explained.
Already it was stiffening with the cold, and Indian Jake, lifting it to his shoulder, set out for the tilt, while David and Andy with the bag of whitefish, followed.
They were nearing the tilt when suddenly Indian Jake paused and peered intently up the lake shore. David and Andy followed his gaze and saw something, close in the edge of the trees, move.
“Deer!” exclaimed Indian Jake.
The three ran for their rifles.