Alan Douglas: Storm-Bound: or, A Vacation Among the Snow Drifts

"Perhaps we may get a storm before we're ready for it," observed Elmer drily, as he shot a dubious glance up at the gray sky that had such an ominous look.

Lil Artha jumped to his feet, showing signs of some excitement.

"Hey! let's be on the hike, fellows!" he exclaimed; "if a storm dropped on top of us right now it wouldn't do a thing to us, p'raps. We haven't got only enough grub for a single day. I guess matches are about the only thing we're heavy on, because we expected to eat our meals in Uncle Caleb's cabin most of the time."

"Well, matches are good things to have up here in the snow woods," remarked Elmer, who was an exact contrast to George in that he always saw the silver lining of the cloud, whereas the other scout could not get beyond the pall.

"You bet they are," Lil Artha went on to say, as he shouldered his pack, which he had arranged in regular Adirondack fashion, with a band across his forehead to assist in sustaining the weight; "though for that matter, if we went shy of the same I reckon you could depend on me to get fire by making a little bow, and sawing the same on a pointed stick, South Sea Islander way. I've done it more'n once, though I never seem able to depend on my cunning. Something goes wrong so often; or else I'm in too big a hurry, and spoil everything. But if you're ready lead off, Elmer. We'll trip along in your tracks, and keep it up for another hour anyway. That rest did us all a heap of good."

The four scouts kept pushing on steadily. Elmer in the van continued to maintain a bright lookout for any sign of footprints in the snow that would give them encouragement, though as time passed, and he failed to find any such, the rosy hopes with which they had started began to gradually fade away.

Of course the others also kept their eyes about them, in hopes of sighting a lone cabin, or discovering smoke rising amidst the trees. Hope died hard, and only George grumbled when more than half an hour had crept on without their running upon the first sign that would mean success.

Once Elmer had pointed out to them the tracks of a fox, and of course being true scouts, they were all greatly interested in examining the trail, and speculating on whether it had been of the ordinary red variety, or a gray animal, perhaps one of those silver-black foxes, the pelt of which is often valued at as much as fifteen hundred dollars.

Elmer had settled this question by picking up a hair he found caught on the split end of a branch that grew low down, and which the body of the fox, as well as his brushy tail, must have scraped as he slipped past. It was plainly a red hair, and even George could not find any cause for disputing that evidence, though he was far from happy, and in a fit mood for argument if the occasion arose.

Several other times Elmer pointed to the unmistakable track of a bounding rabbit, and had they had more time at their disposal the boys would have liked nothing better than to follow these, so as to figure out what was chasing bunny to induce him to take such enormous jumps. But the fact of their being astray in that unknown forest, with night not far away, and a heavy snow-storm brooding over them, rather discouraged them from turning aside from the main thing that engaged their attention, which of course was the finding of the trapper's cabin.

Nobody paid the least attention to George when they heard him grunting away in the rear, because George would not have been happy unless he was miserable, strange though that may sound. There is generally a boy built after that fashion in every crowd of scouts. As a rule he has some good qualities that make his friends forgive his bad ones, and finally they get so accustomed to his grumblings that they pay little attention to them. In fact George's complainings had little more effect on his boon companions than so much water poured on a duck's back would. It amused him to grunt and object, and hurt them very little, so what was the sense of making any trouble?

Another fifteen minutes crept along. There did not seem to be any particular change in things, except that the light was showing signs of failing, and perhaps George stumbled more frequently, for he was not as spry on his feet when carrying a pack as the other fellows.

"Don't seem to be over this way either, Elmer," suggested Lil Artha, finally.

"That's right, Uncle Caleb's cabin appears to be as hard to locate as a needle in a haystack," admitted the leader of the Wolf Patrol, cheerily; as though it would have to be something more than this to discourage him, because he had made it his business in life to always look at the bright side of things; and knew that no matter how gloomy the prospect might be it could seem much worse.

"That settles it!" came abruptly from George in the rear.

"What's the matter with you back there; stubbed your toe again? We'll have to make a scout litter and carry you the rest of the way, if you keep on falling over every old log there is," Lil Artha told him, severely.

"'Tain't that this time, mind you," the delinquent one answered back, with a triumphant grin; "but what's the use trying to poke along any further? Might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb, any day. This place looks like it'd make a good camp for to-night."

"Camp?" echoed Toby.

"Sure thing!" snapped George. "We're all tuckered out, and as hungry as wolves in the dead of winter; night's comin' on right fast; and then if you take a look you'll see that it's begun to snow!" and as the others did glance hastily up they discovered the first few big flakes commence to sail lazily down!

"I'm surprised at you saying it's going to snow, George," Lil Artha remarked, as he turned on the doubting scout; "because it'd be more like you to tell us ten flakes didn't make a storm, and that anyway there was always a chance of it giving us the go-by. Guess you're tired, and want to snuggle down close to a warm fire, which would explain why you give in so easy-like."

"Just as you please, so long as we do camp," replied the other, as he began to undo the straps that secured his hamper to his back.

"Keep still, fellows!" said Elmer, in a husky whisper; "I honestly believe I saw a bevy of partridges fly up in a tree over yonder," and as he dropped his pack lightly to the ground, he gripped the trusty little twelve-bore Marlin double-barreled shot-gun which he had owned for a number of years, and occasionally found a use for.

"Oh! partridges, fat partridges, and me as hungry as a bear!" gasped Toby; but Elmer had already quitted his chums, and was making his way toward the point he had indicated with his hand.

They watched him with considerable eagerness, and waited to see what luck attended his stalking action.

"Since it looks like we'd have to spend a night here, like the Babes in the Wood," Lil Artha was saying in a whisper, "it'd be real nice if Elmer could only bag four plump birds for our supper! Let's hope he gets a string of the same in range, and makes a double with each shot."

"Honest Injun! I think I could devour four myself, without half trying," Toby assured them, rubbing the pit of his stomach as though to call their attention to the fact that it was an aching void.

"Huh! you mightn't even get the smell of a single one cooking," George warned him; "because I've been told partridges are wary old birds, even up here, where they light in the trees after being flushed, instead of going off with a whirr of their wings, like they do down our way."

"There, he's going to let drive!" said Lil Artha, who, being something of a hunter himself, had been closely observing the progress of Elmer all this time.

"Good luck to his pot-shot!" muttered Toby.

Two reports were heard in quick succession. Then Elmer was seen to hastily run forward, at the same time managing to reload his gun.