Guns and Snowshoes; Or, the Winter Outing of the Young Hunters Part 16

Whopper was right, as Shep realized with much alarm. Both of the young hunters gazed around in perplexity. The whirling snow hid the landscape from view. In a moment more, turning this way and that, they were completely bewildered.

"Well, I declare!" burst out Shep. "Hang me if I know where I am!"

"I think the lake is in that direction," announced Whopper, after a painful pause.

"Maybe you are right--I don't know." There seemed to be no sense in standing still, with the snow coming down thicker every minute and the wind whistling dismally all around them. On they went, for at least a quarter of a mile further. The rocks bothered them a great deal and twice both fell, dropping their load as they did so. "This is the finest pleasure stroll I ever took in my life," was Whopper's rather sarcastic comment. "Such level walking, and such nice bright suns.h.i.+ne, with birds singing and--Oh!" And his speech came to an end as he went down again, this time into a hollow of snow and dead leaves up to his knees.

"Are you hurt?" asked Shep.

"Not enough to weep over," was the answer. "But, no joking, this is fierce! I wish I was back to camp."

"So do I, Whopper. But wis.h.i.+ng won't take us there--we've got to walk."

"Isn't it getting dark!"

"Yes, and just listen to that wind!"

By this time, both of the young hunters were scared, although neither mentioned it. Again they went on, but only for a dozen rods. Then both halted and stared in front of them in amazement.

"What's this?"

"We aren't going toward the lake at all!"

Before them was a slight hollow and beyond a cliff of rocks all of twenty to thirty feet high. On the top of the cliff grew a number of large trees and several of these had, in times past, been blown over, their tops resting in the hollow below while the roots still clung fast near the top of the cliff.

"Did you ever see this spot before?" asked Shep.

"Not that I can remember," answered his chum. "But I am sure it is not near the lake."

The young hunters were more alarmed than ever. They felt that they must be miles from camp. Night was now upon them, and the storm, instead of clearing away, was growing worse every minute.

"I don't think we can reach camp to-night," said Shep, as bravely as he could, although his voice trembled slightly. "We'll have to try and make ourselves as comfortable as possible elsewhere."

"What, right out here in the woods!"

"No, we can hunt for some sort of shelter, Whopper."

"Don't you think we can find the lake? If we once found that we could keep on along the sh.o.r.e until we struck our camp."

"I don't believe we can locate the lake in this darkness and with the snow coming down so thickly. Why, look around! You can't see at all!"

Whopper did gaze around, and had to admit that Shep was right. They were shut in by the storm, which seemed to grow wilder and wilder.

With heavy hearts the boys drew closer to the cliff, as that seemed to afford some shelter from the wind, which cut like a knife. In the darkness they stumbled into the hollow and then between two of the fallen trees.

"Well, if we have got to seek shelter, this place may prove as good as any," observed Whopper. "It's warmer under the rocks, and we can use some of these tree branches for a fire."

"Yes, we must have a fire," answered the doctor's son, who did not relish the darkness. He wondered what they would be able to do should wolves attack them, but did not mention this to his companion.

Dropping their load in the snow, they felt their way between the trees, and then broke off some of the small branches for firewood.

They got the driest they could find.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" came suddenly from Whopper.

"What's up?"

"I haven't a single match! Have you any?"

In haste Shep felt in his pocket. There were two matches there, but one felt as if it was no good.

"I've got two, but one feels as if the top was off," he announced.

"For gracious sake, don't let the good one go out, Shep! Here, I've got an old letter in my pocket. Light that first."

The doctor's son felt in his other pockets and brought forth part of an old railroad timetable. The papers were bunched together and held low, while Shep tried to strike the match that had lost part of its head. It made a faint streak of light, but that was all.

"Is that the good one?" asked Whopper, hoa.r.s.ely. Never before had he been so anxious about a light.

"No. I'll try the good one now," answered the doctor's son.

"Don't let the wind blow it out," pleaded his chum. "Here, use my cap."

The papers were placed beside the cap, and Shep struck the match several times. Both of the boys hardly dared to breathe. Then came a flash, and a tiny flame sprang up, and the papers were set to blazing.

They put on the smallest and driest of the twigs and then the small branches, and both tended the fire with as much care as an infant receives from its nurse. Soon it became stronger and stronger, and they breathed a deep sigh of relief and put on some big pieces of wood.

As Snap had said at camp, the fire brightened things up wonderfully and both boys felt lighter-hearted as the ruddy glare lit up the scene. They found something of a circular hollow under the cliff with a big fallen tree just beyond it. They brought the fire to one side of this hollow, and banked up the snow on the other side, and soon the shelter began to grow warm. Then they brought in the deer and hung the game in a fork of the fallen tree.

"Lucky we brought that lunch along," said Shep. "I am as hungry as a bear."

"So am I," returned Whopper, "and I don't think that little lunch is going to satisfy me. What's the matter with broiling a venison streak?"

"Do you want to cut up the deer before we get back to camp?"

"Most likely we'll have to. If this snow keeps on there is no telling how long we'll be s...o...b..und."

"That is true, too. Well, we needn't cut up the whole deer--only cut out what we want to use."

CHAPTER XII

A CRY FOR HELP

Fortunately for the boys, they knew how to cut up a deer to advantage and it did not take them long to trim away a portion of the pelt and get out the steak they wanted. Then they fixed up a rude fork on which to cook the meat, and soon the appetizing odor of broiled venison filled the hollow.

"This is much better than nothing but a cold lunch," said Whopper, as he divided the steak. "Fingers were made before knives and forks, and as n.o.body is looking on, we can eat as suits us."