CHAPTER XXIII

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW

For several seconds Fenn said nothing. He sat and gazed in blank dismay at the odd conglomeration on the plate that Frank had passed to him. At last he asked faintly:

"Is it--is it all this--this way?"

"Mine is," declared Bart.

"And mine," added Ned, while William simply passed up his plate for inspection.

"It's a trick! A mean trick!" burst out Fenn indignantly. "And I know who did it! Frank Roscoe, you did this to get even with us for my mistake about putting soap powder in the cocoanut box, so that it got into the pancakes! But that wasn't my fault."

"You had no right to take the cocoanut out of a box, and put soap powder in without telling a fellow," replied Frank. "If it hadn't been for that my cakes would have been a success, and I suppose if you'd been more careful your plum pudding wouldn't have so much trash in. As it is I don't see how we can eat it," and he poked gingerly at the mess on his plate.

"Well, you fellows may call this a joke, but I don't!" burst out Fenn, now angry in earnest, and he started to leave the table.

"Hold on, old chap. Wait a minute," advised Bart, soothingly. "I guess it's gone far enough. William, just hand out the other pudding, will you?"

The visitor, with a grin, took a covered dish from behind the stove, where it had been set to keep warm. He lifted off the cover, and displayed to the astonished Fenn the original plum pudding, smelling most delicious, and smoking hot.

"Try some of this," said Ned. "Maybe it will be better."

"But I--what--where--what makes--is it----" stammered Fenn, and then his chums burst into a laugh.

"Yes, it's the original pudding," explained Frank. "We just wanted to have a little fun with you, that's all. We hid away the pudding you made, and, at the last minute, substituted one of our own that contained all the odds and ends we could pick up in camp, held together with a lot of dough. I guess we can throw it away now, and eat the real thing," and he emptied his plate, and those of his companions, of the dubious mess, and dished out some of the real plum pudding.

"Ah! Um! This is something like!" murmured Ned, with his mouth full. "Great stuff, Stumpy!"

"Do you like it?" asked the now delighted Fenn.

"Sure!" came in an enthusiastic chorus, and the Christmas dinner was well rounded off by the pudding that Fenn had made with such care.

William spent the remainder of the day in camp with his friends. They went for a walk in the afternoon, did some shooting at targets, for Bart decreed that the game must have a holiday as well as the hunters, and at night, inside the snug tent, with the fire blazing brightly in the stove, and the cold wind blowing outside, they spent a jolly evening, singing songs and telling stories.

William bade his friends good-bye the next morning, and started off through the woods, with his pack upon his back. The chums felt a little lonesome after his departure, but it soon wore off, for there was much to do, to get in wood and water, straighten up the camp, and prepare for a storm, which, according to all the evidences, was soon to break.

It did that night. All the next day, the following night, and part of the next day the wind blew with unabated violence, and the snow was heaped in big drifts.

Fortunately the camp was in a sheltered position, and the drifts were not high immediately around it, but when the boys ventured out they found it hard traveling, for the snow was deep. All around, the woods were covered with a mantle of white, which had sifted down through the trees, while the firs, spruces, hemlocks and pines, which had heavy foliage that caught the white crystals, were mounds of white.

"It's a good thing we had plenty to eat," observed Bart, as he and his chums looked around the camp, "for we never could have gotten it during the storm."

"That's right," agreed Fenn, "but, as it is, we'll have to get something soon, unless we want to live on canned stuff. The fresh meat is nearly gone." For, while practically prisoners in their tents during the storm, they had eaten considerable, and the cupboard was somewhat depleted.

"Oh, we'll soon stock up again," declared Bart. "It will be good hunting now, and, though we can't shoot any deer, I may get a chance at another bear, and there will be plenty of rabbits and game birds. We'll take a chance at it after breakfast."

They started out, taking care to have their compasses with them, though they did not expect to go far. No bears were to be seen, but partridge, pheasants and wild turkeys were plentiful, and, in addition to getting a supply of these, they shot several rabbits.

In the tent that evening, before going to bed, the boys were cleaning their guns, in anticipation of a hunt the following day. Suddenly Fenn, who was nearest the flap, uttered a word of caution.

"Listen," he said in a whisper. "I think I hear something."

The others became silent at once, but they heard nothing.

"Guess it was the wind, Stumpy," observed Bart, as he put an oiled rag down the barrel of his rifle.

"Maybe," assented the stout lad, as he arose and peered out. He came back, remarking: "I didn't see anything, but I thought I heard some one prowling around."

It was not until the next morning that the boys recalled the incident of the night previous. Then Frank, who was walking about the cleared space in front of the tents, to get up an appetite, as he expressed it, uttered a cry of wonder.

"Look here!" he shouted.

"What?" cried Fenn, running up to him.

"A turtle!" went on Frank, picking up one of the reptiles that was slowly crawling along, made sluggish by the cold. "Here's a mud turtle, and see, some one has been walking around here," and he pointed to footprints in the snow.

"I was sure I heard some one last night," declared Fenn, triumphantly.

"That mysterious man again, I'll wager a cookie!" exclaimed Bart. "But what is the turtle doing here? Is it the same one you had, Stumpy?"

"No, it's a different kind. Maybe that mysterious man dropped it, and was hunting around for it."

"Hard to tell," remarked Frank. "Anyhow, isn't it rather queer, Stumpy, to see mud turtles out this time of year?"

"Sure it is. They don't come out by themselves to play around in the snow. Either some one dug this one up, or some one had it and dropped it. Well, I guess the best thing we can say is that it's part of the mystery. If we could only meet with that man who seems so afraid of meeting us, matters might be explained. As it is----" Fenn could only finish by a shrug of his shoulders.