Ned Wilding's Disappearance: or, The Darewell Chums in the City

The new-fallen snow deadened their footsteps or they would have frightened all the game within a mile, the way they rushed through the forest. They had never hunted wild turkeys, and did not know what shy birds they are.

So it was more by good luck than good management that they suddenly came upon a small flock, gathered about a big gobbler. The birds were in a little clearing, standing rather disconsolately about in the snow.

Bart, who was leading, came to an abrupt halt as he saw the flock through the bushes. He motioned for the others to remain quiet. Then he carefully brought his gun to bear on the big gobbler.

“Aren’t you going to give us a shot?” asked Ned in a whisper. He and the others were standing behind Bart, and could not get a fair aim at the turkeys, as the trail was a narrow one and Bart occupied the most of it.

The whisper, as it was, gave the alarm to the easily frightened birds. The gobbler raised its head and sounded one note of warning. But Bart shot at the instant. The flock scattered in all directions and the other boys fired wildly in the hope of getting a bird.

When the smoke had blown away the chums peered eagerly forward, expecting to see at least four turkeys lying on the snow-covered ground. Bart ran up, hoping the big gobbler had fallen to him.

“Didn’t we kill any?” asked Frank, as they saw nothing but turkey tracks.

“Looks as if we all missed,” remarked Fenn.

“No, here’s one, and it’s a fine one too!” exclaimed Frank, as he ran to one side and picked up a plump hen from under a bush.

“Who aimed at that one?” asked Bart, much disappointed at missing his gobbler.

“Hard to say,” said Ned. “I guess we can all claim a share in it. We each shot one-fourth of a turkey. Not so bad for a starter.”

“I’m out of it,” Bart rejoined. “I aimed straight at the gobbler, and he got away. It’s a third of a bird apiece for you fellows.”

“Anyhow it is the first turkey of the hunt,” observed Ned.

“Yes, and my gun is christened,” added Bart.

CHAPTER V

THE BLIZZARD

“Now for some more game!” cried Ned, as Frank tied the legs of the turkey and slung the bird across his back in true hunter fashion.

“Guess we’ll have to tramp a long distance before we get any more,” remarked Fenn. “All the turkeys for a mile around heard the guns and they’ll keep to deep cover.”

However the boys, ever hopeful, resumed their tramp. They found plenty of turkey tracks but no birds, and, after covering several miles, decided to make their way back to camp, as it was getting dark early on account of the storm.

They got the right direction, by means of the compass, and were within about a mile of where they had set up the tent when Bart, who was ahead, suddenly halted.

“What is it?” asked Fenn, as he saw his chum aiming his gun up through the low branches of a tree near which he had stopped.

For answer Bart fired. There was a flutter of big wings, a protesting gobble or two, and a big turkey cock fell to the ground.

“There, I knew I’d get him!” Bart cried as he ran forward and secured his prize. “I saw him roosting up in the branches, and I fired before he could get away. I knew I’d get him!”

“You don’t think this is the same one you fired at a while ago, do you?” asked Ned.

“Well, it’s one just as big and just as good,” retorted Bart. “I’m satisfied if he is.”

He slung the gobbler, which was a large fat one, over his shoulder and went on, much pleased with himself and his new gun.

“Guess we’ll have roast turkey to-night all right,” Frank remarked as they trudged along.

“I guess not, if I have to cook it!” exclaimed Fenn. “It’s too late to dress any birds to-night. Canned stuff and coffee for yours.”

“Well, to-morrow then,” Frank insisted. “We’ve got to have a turkey dinner while we’re in the woods.”

It was almost dark when they reached camp. They lighted some lanterns, and built a big fire, while Fenn, who had been elected cook, got supper ready. The other boys cleared out the tent for sleeping purposes.

When the boys awoke in the morning it was to find the ground covered about a foot deep with snow. The flakes had ceased falling, but it was much colder, and there was a stiff wind. Gray clouds covered the sky, and altogether it was rather a cheerless prospect.

But the boys’ spirits were proof against almost anything. With some hot coffee to warm them up, and some hot canned meat, which Fenn prepared, they were ready for another day of tramping through the woods after game.

“What do you say to moving camp?” suggested Bart. “I’m afraid we’ve scared from around here whatever there was in the way of turkeys and rabbits. We can put our stuff on the sled and pull it through the snow.”

This was agreed to, and soon the runners were adjusted over the wheels, and the four boys were pulling the sleigh with the camp outfit.

They went slowly, picking their way as best they could among the trees. On a down grade, where two were enough at the rope, Bart and Frank went ahead to see if they could observe any signs of game. Frank killed a fat rabbit, but Bart fired at one and missed.

They went about four miles farther into the forest and, as they saw turkey tracks, they decided to camp there.

“We’ll have an early dinner, put the turkey hen on to roast, and go off hunting the rest of the day,” decided Fenn.

The turkey was prepared in a somewhat rough fashion and put to roast in the oven of the portable stove. When it was nearly done the fire was allowed to cool down.

“All we have to do when we get back is to start a small blaze and we’ll have hot turkey,” explained Fenn. Some dry wood was placed within the tent to keep it safe in case it began to snow again, and, fastening the flaps, the boys set off.

They had better luck this time, and managed to get a turkey apiece, though they were only hens, and not very large.

“We ought to each get a big gobbler before we go back home,” Bart said. “You fellows want to look alive. I’ve got mine.”

“You had all the luck,” retorted Ned.

But the gobblers seemed too wise to come within the reach of the boys’ guns, and when it came time to make back-tracks for camp there was none numbered among the slain. Several more rabbits had been secured, however, and the boys were well satisfied.

“My mouth waters for that roast turkey,” exclaimed Ned, as he tramped through the snow. “I want a piece of the breast and some of the brown skin. Just a bit of dressing, please, and a spoonful of gravy!”

“Let up!” cried Bart. “I’m half starved!”

Ned’s anticipations of the turkey were fully realized. It may not have been done just to the turn a French chef would call proper, but the boys thought they had never eaten anything half so good. There was little left when they had finished.

“We’d better circle around so’s to fetch up near where Jim’s to meet us to-night,” remarked Bart as they crawled out of the blankets Wednesday morning. The cold had increased and the wind was blowing half a gale.

The tent was struck, after a hasty breakfast, and, with the other things, not forgetting the game, was packed upon the sled. The boys started off, intending to make a large circle and bring up that evening where Jim had left them, in time to meet him. They would not erect the tent again.

They managed to kill several hen turkeys, another gobbler, which fell to Ned’s gun, and a couple of rabbits, but most of the game seemed to have disappeared, and there was no more in the vicinity of where the boys tramped, dragging the sled after them.

They halted for dinner in a dense part of the forest, and, after the meal, started for the place where the corduroy road ended. They judged it to be about six miles from where they were, and knew it would take them about until night-fall to reach it.