CHAPTER XVII

A SEARCH AND A BEAR

“Do you think he’ll really go?” whispered Harry to Joe.

“I guess not, Harry. But he is mad, no doubt of that.”

“I didn’t want to make him mad, Joe. And he hit me a pretty hard one over the shoulders, too.”

“Fred hates to be fooled. Perhaps we had better talk to him about it.”

“No; that will make him madder than ever.”

The two boys retired, but it was a long while before either of them could get to sleep. They hated to be on the “outs” with their chum, and could not bear to think of Fred leaving them.

The stout youth _was_ angry, and showed it even at breakfast, when he scarcely replied to the questions put to him. The bit of rope still lay on the floor, and picking it up, he gave it a vicious toss out of the window.

“There, Fred, let that end it,” said Joe, kindly. “It wasn’t just the right thing to do, and Harry and I are ready to acknowledge it.”

“Oh, yes, after it’s all over,” grumbled the stout youth. “If I had played that joke on you, what then?”

“We’d have to put up with it,” answered Harry. “Come, call it off.”

“I will—after I have squared the account,” replied Fred. But after that he seemed to feel better.

The weather had moderated considerably, and where the sun struck the snow the latter sank rapidly.

“There will be a good crust by to-morrow,” said Joel Runnell, and so it proved. All put on snowshoes and found walking excellent.

“What are we going to do to-day?” questioned Harry.

“I’ve been thinking that I would like to try for that bear,” answered the old hunter. “That is, if I can get on his track.”

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” put in Joe. “I’d like to pay a visit to Needle Rock and take a look around for that missing pocketbook.”

“You won’t find much with the snow as deep as it is now,” came from Fred.

“We might tramp around that way just for fun,” said old Runnell. “We may bring down some game on the way.”

“Will you leave the lodge alone?” asked Joe. “Is it safe to do so? Skeetles and Marcy may come back.”

“I’ve got an idea, boys. Let us fasten the door up from the inside, and then come out through the window. After that we can nail that strip over the window, and then the place will be as tight as a drum.”

This was agreed to, and a little later found them on their way around the shore of Pine Island. The weather was all that could be hoped for, and the boys felt so happy that they were inclined to whistle, until Joel Runnell stopped them.

“You can’t go on a hunt whistling, unless you want the game to know you’re coming,” he said, quizzically.

“Oh, I forgot that,” said Joe, and stopped at once, and the others did the same.

Harry had his camera with him, and took several time exposures, using a very small stop or opening, so that the negatives would be sharp and clear. Then he took a snap shot of Joel Runnell shooting at a flock of birds—a picture which, later on, proved to be all that could be desired. He also took pictures of Fred and Joe aiming at an imaginary rabbit, said rabbit being a fur cap propped up on a bit of brushwood.

“I’ll have a famous collection by the time I get home,” he said. “And I’ll print two sets of pictures, so that Fred can have one set.” And this promise caused Fred to forget the last of the ill feeling he had had over the “snake” joke.

On and on they went, occasionally slipping down an incline with their snowshoes and landing in a heap at the bottom. Then Fred, who was a little to the left of the others, suddenly set up a shout.

“Hi, Joe and Harry, come here, quick! I want to show you something!”

Both ran forward to see what their chum had discovered, and a moment later went headlong into a hollow several yards in diameter and equally deep. There had been some brushwood over part of the opening, but this gave way with them, and let them down so rapidly that they could not save themselves. Then Fred pushed on a snowbank and that followed, all but burying them.

“Great Scott!” spluttered Joe. “What a tumble!” And he scraped the snow from his face.

“What did you call us here for?” asked Harry. “Don’t you think we ever saw a hole before?”

“I wanted you to see if there were any snakes down there,” answered Fred, with a grin.

“Of all things!” gasped Joe. “Just you wait till I get out.”

“We’ll put him down into the hole,” said Harry, as he scooped some snow from his ear.

“Not much you won’t!” answered Fred, and ran off to rejoin old Runnell.

Joe and Harry had all they could do to get out of the hole, and even then the snow got down their sleeves and collars in a fashion that was far from comfortable. They ran after Fred, intending to at least “wash his face,” but the stout youth took good care to keep out of their reach.

“Come, boys, you must keep quiet, or else we won’t bring down a thing,” remonstrated old Runnell, and after that they followed his advice and moved on as noiselessly as possible.

A little ahead of them was a tiny brook which, in the summer time, flowed from the hill into the lake. Here some of the rocks along the bank were swept bare of snow.

Without previous warning Joel Runnell held up his hand for the others to halt. On some of the rocks, several small weasel-like creatures were sunning themselves. He brought his gun up and the others did the same.

“Fire!” said old Runnell, and the four firearms rang out almost simultaneously, and two of the game fell dead where they sat.

“Hurrah! that’s a haul!” cried Harry, enthusiastically.

“What are they?” questioned Fred. “They look something like mink.”

“They are what we call mountain brook mink, Fred,” answered the old hunter. “The best kind to bring down, too, so far as the fur is concerned. Those furs are quite valuable, as you must know.”

“I know mink is valuable,” answered the stout youth. “My mother has a collar made of it.”

Having secured the game, they moved on once more. Joe was now slightly in advance and brought down a rabbit he saw scooting over the snow.

After this nothing was sighted for a long while. Then Fred, who was growing hungry, proposed that they stop for dinner.

The others were willing, and a halt was made in the shelter of some hemlock trees and elderberry bushes. Not far away was a hickory tree, and the wind-swept ground was full of nuts which even the squirrels had failed to carry off.

The stop lasted for fully an hour, and then, thoroughly rested, they pushed on. Only a few birds were sighted, however, and these were so far away that to bring any of them down proved impossible.

“There is Needle Rock,” said Joel Runnell, at last, and pointed out to where a rock arose about fifty feet from the lake shore. It was a tall, sharp-pointed affair, and the wind had swept it entirely free from snow.

“And where was that boat wrecked, do you think?” questioned Joe, with interest.

“Just about over yonder, Joe. Of course, I can’t tell the exact location, but it wasn’t over fifty yards from that point.”

The young hunters all moved down to the lake front and tramped up and down, over the rocks and among the snow-laden bushes. Here and there they shoved some of the snow aside, but brought nothing of interest to light.

“I guess it’s a wild-goose chase, looking for that pocketbook or those papers,” said Harry at length.

“It’s a good deal like looking for a pin in a haystack,” returned Fred.

“We’ll stand more chance of finding something after the snow clears away,” put in Joe, with a sigh. “That is, if it is really here.”

“And if it is here the melting snow may carry it out into the lake,” said his brother.

They took another look around, Joel Runnell prying up some old brushwood and dead tree limbs, and by that time the descending sun warned them that if they wished to return to Snow Lodge before nightfall they had better start without delay.

“Yes, let’s get back,” said Harry, who was tired out. “And then we can have a bit of roast rabbit for a change.”

“And I’m going to make some biscuits for supper,” put in Joe. “We haven’t had fresh biscuits since we were at the lodge before.”

Somewhat downhearted over their failure to locate the missing pocketbook or papers, they turned toward home. All had known it was rather a forlorn hope at the best, yet each had secretly hoped that something would be brought to light.

“But I suppose Hiram Skeetles looked high and low for it before he gave the hunt up,” was Joe’s comment. “And his eyes are as sharp as those of a hawk.”

The tramp to the lodge seemed a long one to the tired young hunters, and Harry felt inclined to rest half a dozen times. When they at last came in sight of the snow-clad building, it was quite dark.

“Now to jump through the window and open the door!” exclaimed Joe, and, throwing down his gun, he rushed forward. Then he uttered an ejaculation of astonishment: “The window is wide open. Did we leave it that way?”

“Certainly not,” answered Joel Runnell.

“Somebody has been here, after all,” put in Harry.

“Must have been old Skeetles and Marcy. What will we do if they have cleaned us out?”

“I’ll soon find out,” continued Joe, and leaped through the window into the living-room of the cabin.

The fire had died down until there was little or nothing left of it. Stumbling across the floor, he kicked it into a blaze and threw on a few extra sticks of wood. After this he reached for the lantern and lit it.

“Well, what have you found?” asked Harry, looking in at the window.

“Nothing, so far,” answered his brother. “Everything seems to be all right, although the bench is overturned and—yes—somebody has carried off that piece of venison I hung up near the window!”

“That looks as if some wild animal was around, Joe.”

“Creation! I didn’t think of that. Do you see anything outside—I mean footprints?”

“No, it’s too dark now to see anything. Better open the door.”

Joe started to do so. But as he crossed the floor a sound from the sleeping apartment caused him to halt.

“Who’s there?” he cried.

The only answer was a soft pat-pat of feet, and a moment later a big, black bear came into view. The beast stared at Joe in astonishment, and then arose on its hind legs and came for him, uttering a low, savage growl as it advanced.

The youth did not know what to do. He was unarmed, and Harry had left the window, so he could not obtain immediate assistance. He leaped close to the fire and as he did so the bear leaped after him.