Chapter IX: An Unexpected Meeting

Tom and his chums had no false notions about their hunting trip. They did not expect much in the way of big game, though they had been told that at some seasons bear and deer were plentiful. But while they had hopes that they might bag one of those large animals, they were not too sanguine.

“We’ll stand better chances on deer than bears,” said Tom. “For the bears are likely to be ‘holed up’ by now, though there may be one or two stray ones out that haven’t fatted up enough to insure a comfortable sleep all Winter. Of course the deer aren’t like that. They don’t hibernate.”

“What!” laughed Bert. “Say it again, and say it slow.”

“Get out!” cried Tom. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, we might get a brace of fat partridges, or a couple of rabbits,” Jack said. “I’ll be satisfied with them for a starter.”

“Well, I know one thing I’m going to get right now!” exclaimed Bert, with a sudden motion.

“Do you see anything?” demanded Jack, bringing forward his rifle.

“I’m going to snapshot that view! It’s a dandy!” Bert went on, as he opened his camera.

“Oh! Only a picture! I thought it was a bear at least!” cried Tom.

But Bert calmly proceeded to get the view he wanted. He was perhaps more enthusiastic over camera work than the others, though they all liked to dabble in the pastime, and each one had some fine pictures to his credit.

“Well, if you’re done making snapshots, let’s go on and do some real shooting,” proposed Jack.

He and Tom each had a rifle, while Bert and George had shotguns, so they were equipped for any sort of game they were likely to meet. For an hour or more they tramped on through the snow-covered woods, taking care to note their direction by means of a compass, for they were on strange ground, and did not want to get lost on their first hunting trip.

As they came out of a dense patch of scrubby woods, into a little semi-cleared place, a whirr of wings startled all of them.

“There they go--partridges!” yelled Bert, bringing up his gun and firing quickly.

“Missed!” he groaned a moment later as he saw the brace of plump birds whirr on without so much as a feather ruffled.

“You don’t know how to shoot!” grunted Jack. “You’re not quick enough.”

“Well, I’d like to see you shoot anything when it jumps up right from under your feet, and almost knocks you over,” was Bert’s defence of himself.

“That’s right,” chimed in George. “I couldn’t get my gun ready, either, before they were out of sight.”

“You’ve got to be always on the lookout,” said Tom. “Well, the first miss isn’t so bad. None of us is in proper shape yet. We’ll get there after a while.”

A little disappointed at their first failure, the boys went on again, watching eagerly from side to side as they advanced. No more did Bert use his camera. He wanted to make good on a real shot.

“Well, there’s game here, that’s certain,” said Tom. “If we can only get it!”

Almost as he spoke there was a whirr at his very feet. He started back, and half raised his rifle, not thinking, for the moment, that it was not a shotgun. Then he cried:

“Bert! George! Quick, wing ’em!”

George was quicker than his companion. Up to his shoulder went his weapon and the woods echoed to the shot that followed.

“You got him!” cried Bert, as he saw a bird flutter to the snow. Bert himself fired at the second partridge, and had the satisfaction of knocking off a few feathers, but that was all. But George, who had not thought to fire his second barrel, ran forward and picked up the bird he had bagged. It was a plump partridge.

“That will make part of our meal to-morrow,” he said, proudly, as he put it in the game bag Tom carried.

“Say, we’ve struck a good spot all right!” exclaimed Jack. “It’s up to us now, Tom, to do something.”

“That’s what it is,” agreed his chum.

But if they expected to have a succession and continuation of that good luck they were disappointed, for they tramped on for about three miles more without seeing anything.

“Better not go too far,” advised Tom. “Remember that we’ve got to walk back again, and it gets dark early at this season.”

“Let’s eat grub here and then bear off to the left,” suggested Jack.

They had brought some sandwiches with them, and also a coffee pot and tin cups. They found a sheltered spot, and made a fire, boiling the coffee which they drank as they munched their sandwiches.

“This is something like!” murmured Bert, his mouth half full.

“That’s what,” agreed George. “You wouldn’t know from looking around here that there was such a place as Elmwood Hall.”

The meal over, they again took up the march, and they had not gone far before Tom, who was a little in advance, started a big white rabbit. He saw the bunny, and then almost lost sight of it again, so well did its white coat of fur blend with the snow. But in another instant Tom’s keen eye saw it turning at an angle.

He raised his rifle.

“You can’t hit it with that!” cried Jack.

But Tom was a better shot than his chum gave him credit for being. As the gun cracked, the rabbit gave a convulsive leap and came down in a heap on the snow.

“By Jove! You _did_ bag him!” cried Jack, admiringly.

“Of course,” answered Tom coolly, as though he had intended doing that all along, whereas he well knew, as did his chums, that the shot was pure luck, for it takes a mighty good hunter to get a rabbit with a rifle bullet.

However, the bunny was added to the game bag, and then, for some time, the boys had no further luck. A little later, when they were well on their way back, Jack saw a plump gray squirrel on a tree. Bert was near him, but on the wrong side, and Jack, taking his chum’s gun, brought down the animal, which further increased their luck that day.

“Well, we’ve got all we want to eat for a while. What do you say we quit?” suggested Tom. “No use killing just for fun.”

“That’s right,” agreed his chums.

“We won’t fire at anything unless it’s a deer or a bear,” went on Bert, laughing.

As they neared their cabin they were all startled by a movement in the bush ahead of them. It sounded as though some heavy body was forcing its way along.

“There’s a deer--or bear!” whispered Jack, raising his rifle.

“Don’t shoot at anything you can’t see,” was Tom’s good advice. And the next moment there stepped into view of the boys the figure of Professor Skeel. He was almost as startled on seeing the four chums as they were at beholding him.