The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

“I think Harry is right,” said old Runnell. “Go slow, boys. There are many pitfalls among the rocks.”

He led the way, and they came after him, spreading out a distance of several rods. Presently they reached the gully, but not at the point where Joe had taken the fall.

“Hello, Joe? Where are you?” called Harry.

No answer came back, and the call was repeated several times. Not a sound broke the stillness of the evening.

“He’s in trouble, that is certain,” said Harry, looking more anxious every minute.

“Perhaps he fell over the rocks, and broke his neck,” put in Fred.

“Oh, Fred, do you think he did?”

“Let us hope for the best, lads,” broke in Joel Runnell.

“If he wasn’t badly hurt he’d answer us,” went on Harry. “I wish we had the lantern.”

“I’ll go back for it,” said Fred, and hurried for the lodge without further words.

Joel Runnell had started along the edge of a ravine, with his face close to the rocks and snow. Now he came to a halt.

“Here are some footprints,” he declared. “Wait till I strike a light.”

He lit a match, and with this set fire to a dry pine bough. The footprints were there plain enough.

“Joe!” he called, sharply. “Joe, are you below?”

“Yes,” came faintly to his ears.

“He’s here!” shouted the old hunter.

“Where?” and now Harry came up quickly.

“He’s down below.”

Harry bent over the dark opening.

“Joe, are you badly hurt?” he questioned.

“I – I guess not. But my – my wind is g-g-gone!”

“We’ll soon have you up.”

“We can’t do it without a rope,” said old Runnell. “Better go back to the lodge for one.”

Harry caught Fred just coming away with the lighted lantern. The rope was quickly procured, and both sped back to the gully. Then Harry was lowered, taking the light with him.

He found Joe sitting on a ledge of rocks, his feet in the snow. One hand was scratched and bleeding, and there was blood on one of his cheeks.

“It was a nasty fall, I can tell you that,” said Joe, when he felt able to talk. “When I came down I thought it was all up with me.”

“You can be thankful you didn’t break any bones, Joe,” returned his brother, tenderly.

A sling was made, and Joe was hoisted up by old Runnell and Fred, and then Harry came up, carrying the shotgun. By this time it was pitch-dark on all sides, and the snow was coming down thickly.

“It’s good we have the lantern,” observed Harry. “It is going to be no easy job getting back to the lodge.”

Joel Runnell led the way, and the boys followed, with Joe in the middle leaning on the others’ shoulders. Progress was slow, and it took the best part of an hour to reach Snow Lodge.

“Jumping bullfrogs! if I didn’t leave the door wide open!” cried Fred, in consternation.

“Well, we’ll forgive you this time,” laughed Joe Runnell. “But don’t let it happen again.”

The lodge was cold, but with the door shut tight and a good fire the temperature soon arose. Then Fred slipped down to the lake, and brought in the fish that had been caught.

“Not so bad,” said the old hunter, as he looked the catch over. “Reckon we’ll have enough to eat for a day or two.”

Before retiring that night Joe washed his bruises and bathed them with some arnica that was in the medicine case. This eased the wounds a great deal, and in a few days he felt as well as ever.

It snowed steadily the whole of the night, and toward morning the wind arose and sent the snow flying against the lodge until it was piled almost to the top of the door. The thermometer went down ten degrees, and all hands were glad enough to hug the fire.

“Phew! but this storm is a corker,” exclaimed Fred. “I’m glad we haven’t got to travel in it.”

“We needn’t stir until it clears off,” said Joel Runnell. “That will give Joe a chance to mend.”

Breakfast was late, and they took their own time in eating the fish and potatoes that had been prepared. After this they gazed out of the window for a while, and then sat down to play at dominoes and checkers, both games having been brought along by Fred for just such an emergency.

Yet with it all the day passed slowly, and the boys were not sorry when, at nightfall, the snowing ceased, and the wind also fell.

“It’s going to be a clear day to-morrow,” the old hunter predicted. “We ought to have some fine sport.”

It was not yet nine o’clock when the boys and the old hunter retired for the night. The fire was fixed with care, so that no sparks might set fire to the lodge.

It did not take long for the boys to get to sleep. Each occupied a separate bunk in the sleeping apartment, while old Runnell stretched himself on the floor in the living-room.

Fred had been asleep about an hour, when he awoke with a start. What had aroused him he could not tell, until a peculiar sensation along one of his lower limbs attracted his attention.

“What in the world can that be?” he asked himself. “Am I getting a chill, or is it rheumatism?”

He caught his breath, and on the instant his heart almost stopped beating from fright. Something was in the bunk; something that was crawling over his lower limbs and up to his breast!

“It’s a snake!” he thought. “It’s a snake! If I dare to move it will sting me! Can it be a rattler?”

He was on the point of screaming, but could not bring himself to do it. The cold beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. In those few seconds he lived an hour of anguish. Then he made a swift clutch at the object through the blanket, and leaped out upon the floor.

“A snake! A snake!” he yelled. “Help me! Shoot him, somebody! A snake has me by the leg! He’s stinging me this minute! I’m a dead boy!”

CHAPTER IX