The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

“Is the light strong enough?” questioned Joe. “I thought you had to have sunlight for a snapshot.”

“I’ll give it a time exposure, Joe.”

“Fred, how long do you think it ought to have?”

“About ten seconds with a medium stop,” was the reply.

The camera was set on the top of one of the sleds and properly pointed, and Joe timed the exposure. Then Harry turned the film roll around for picture number two.

“That’s a good bit easier than a plate camera,” came from Joel Runnell. “I once went out with a man who had that sort. His plates weighed an awful lot, and he was always in trouble trying to find some dark place where he could fill his holders.”

“This camera loads in daylight; so I’ll not have any trouble that way,” said Harry. “And I can take six pictures before I have to put in a new roll of films.”

It was high noon when the upper end of Pine Island was gained. All of the party were hungry, but it was decided to move on to the lodge before getting dinner.

The lodge set back about a hundred feet from the edge of a cove, and ten minutes more of walking over the ice and through the deep snow brought them in sight of the building. It was a rough affair of logs, twenty by thirty feet in size, with a rude chimney at one end. There was a door and two windows, and the ruins of a tiny porch. Over all the snow lay to a depth of a foot or more.

“I’ve got a name for this place,” said Joe. “I don’t think anything could be more appropriate than that of Snow Lodge.”

“That fits it exactly!” cried Fred. “Snow Lodge it is, eh, Harry?”

“Yes, that’s all right,” was the answer; and Snow Lodge it was from that moment forth.

There had been a padlock on the door, but this was broken off, so they had no difficulty in getting inside. They found the lodge divided into two apartments, one with bunks for sleeping purposes, and the other, where the fireplace was, for a living-room. Through an open window and through several holes in the roof the snow had sifted, and covered the flooring as with a carpet of white.

“We’ll have to clean up first of all,” said Joe. “No use of bringing in our traps until then.”

“Our first job is to clean off the roof and mend that,” came from Joe Runnell. “Then we’ll be ready for the next storm when it comes. After that we can clean up inside and cut some firewood.”

“But dinner – ” began Fred.

“I’ll cook the turkeys and some potatoes while the others fix the room,” said Harry.

This was agreed to, and soon they had a fire blazing away in front of the lodge. To dry-pick the turkeys was not so easy, and all the small feathers had to be singed off. But Harry knew his business, and soon there was an appetizing odor floating to the noses of those on the roof of the lodge.

The young hunters thought the outing great sport, and while on the roof Joe and Fred got to snowballing each other. As a consequence, Joe received one snowball in his ear, and Fred, losing his balance, rolled from the roof into a snowbank behind the lodge.

“Hi! hi! let up there!” roared old Runnell. “This isn’t the play hour, lads. Work first and play afterward.”

“It’s no play to go headfirst in that snowbank,” grumbled Fred. “I’m as cold as an icicle!”

“All hands to dinner!” shouted Harry. “Don’t wait – come while everything is hot!”

“Right you are!” came from Joe, as he took a flying leap from the roof to the side of the fire. “Phew! but that turkey smells good, and so do the potatoes and coffee!”

They were soon eating with the appetite that comes only from hours spent in the open air in winter. Everything tasted “extra good,” as Fred put it, and they spent a good hour around the fire, picking the turkey bones clean. The turkeys had not been large, so that the meat was extra tender and sweet.

The roof of the lodge had been thoroughly cleaned, and now the boys were set to work to clean out the interior, and to start a fire in the open fireplace. In the meantime Joel Runnell procured some long strips of bark, and nailed these over the holes he had discovered. Over the broken-out window they fastened a flap of strong, but thin, white canvas in such a manner that it could be pushed aside when not wanted, and secured firmly during the night or when a storm was on.

The roaring fire soon dried out the interior of the building, and made it exceedingly comfortable. The boys found several more cracks in the sides, and nailed bark over these.

“Now for some firewood and pine boughs for the bunks, and then we can consider ourselves at home,” said Joel Runnell. “I know cutting firewood isn’t sport, but it’s all a part of the outing.”

“Oh, I shan’t mind that a bit,” replied Joe, and the others said the same.

Several small pine trees were handy, and from these old Runnell cut the softest of the boughs, and the boys arranged them in the bunks, after first drying them slightly before the fire. Over the boughs were spread the blankets brought along, and this furnished each with a bed, which, if not as comfortable as that at home, was still very good.

“It will beat sleeping on a hard board all hollow,” said Harry.

Next came the firewood; and this was stacked up close to the door of the lodge, while a fair portion was piled up in the living-room, for use when a heavy storm was on. Each of the boys chopped until his back fairly ached, but no one complained. It was so different, chopping wood for an outing instead of in the back yard at home!

“And now for something for supper and for breakfast,” said Joel Runnell, as the last stick was flung on the woodpile. “Supposing we divide our efforts. Joe can go with me into the woods on a hunt, while Fred and Harry can chop a hole in the ice on the lake, and try their luck at fishing.”

“Just the thing!” cried Fred. “Wait and see the pickerel I haul in.”

“And the fish I catch,” added Harry.

“Will we have to lock up the lodge?” asked Joe.

“Hardly,” answered the old hunter. “I don’t believe there is anybody, but ourselves inside of five miles of this spot.”

The guns were ready, and Joel Runnell and Joe soon set off, for the short winter day was drawing to a close, and there was no time to lose. But the fishing outfits had still to be unpacked, and the boys had to find bait, so it was half an hour later before Fred and Harry could get away.

Arriving at the lake shore, the two would-be fishermen selected a spot that they thought looked favorable, and began to cut their hole. As the ice was fully sixteen inches thick this was no easy task. But at last the sharp ax cut through, and then it was an easy matter to make the hole large enough for both to try their luck.

“I’ll wager a potato that I get the first bite,” observed Harry, as he threw in.

“What odds are you giving on that bet?” came from Fred.

“I didn’t think you were such small potatoes as to ask odds,” was the quick answer; and then both lads laughed.

Fishing proved to be slow work, and both boys became very cold before Fred felt something on his line.

“Hurrah, I’ve got a bite!” he shouted. “Here is where I win that potato!” And he hauled in rapidly.

“Be careful that you don’t lose your fish,” cautioned Harry. “We can’t afford to lose anything just now.”

“Huh! don’t you think I know how to fish?” grunted Fred, and hauled in as rapidly as before. But then the game appeared to hold back, and he hardly knew what to do.

“Coming in hard,” he said, slowly. “I think – . Ah, I’ve got him now! Here he comes!” And then the catch did come – a bit of brushwood, with several dead weeds clinging to it.

“That’s a real fine fish,” said Harry, dryly. “What do you suppose he’d weigh, in his own scales?”

“Oh, give us a rest!”

“The potato is yours, Fred. You can eat it for supper, along with that fine catch.”

“If you say another word, I’ll pitch you into the hole!”