The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

With nothing to make them get up early, all hands slept the following morning until after eight o’clock. The old hunter was the first to arise, and he had the breakfast well under way before the others rolled out.

“I’ve been a-thinking it over,” said old Runnell. “Perhaps one of us had better stay at the lodge while the others go for that other deer meat. Then, if Marcy comes, or Hiram Skeetles, there will be somebody here to talk to him.”

“I’d just as lief stay,” said Fred, who did not relish hauling the load of meat to Snow Lodge.

“Supposing you and Runnell both stay,” suggested Joe. “I am sure Harry and I can get the deer over without much trouble.”

The matter was discussed while they were eating breakfast, and Joe’s plan was adopted. A little later he and Harry set off, each with his gun, and Harry with his ever-present camera in addition. So far Harry had taken, besides the game, several pictures of the lodge and its surroundings, and had already laid away a strip of six films for development when he should get home.

“I hope we’re able to bring down something on this trip,” said Harry, as they trudged along over the lake.

“We can’t expect to bring in something every trip we make, Harry. If we did we’d be the greatest Gun Club in the United States. Many a hunter goes out all day and doesn’t so much as see a squirrel.”

“Oh, I know that. I really think that so far our luck has been remarkably good.”

“It won’t keep up. Our shooting in this vicinity will scare the game away from the lodge. As the days go by we’ll have to go farther and farther away for something worth bringing down.”

The journey across the lake was made without incident, but scarcely had they struck the mainland when a distant howl greeted their ears.

“What is that?” came from Harry.

“It’s the howl of a wolf,” answered his brother. “I shouldn’t wonder but what he has scented the deer meat.”

“If he has we may have some trouble in getting the deer home.”

“Oh, I guess we can easily take care of one wolf.”

“But there may be more, Joe. Wolves generally travel in packs, you know.”

“Yes, but I don’t hear any others.”

“He may be calling his mates.”

They moved forward up the rise, and presently came in sight of the game. Under the tree where the deer was strung up sat two wolves, gazing wistfully at the meat.

“Two of them here, and one below!” cried Joe. “That makes three.”

“Wait! let me get a picture!” whispered Harry, and brought his camera into use without delay. It certainly made a good scene, and he got as close as he could ere he pressed the button. Then he took up his shotgun and blazed away, and Joe did the same.

Neither of the wolves was much hurt, and both limped into the woods growling savagely. The growl was answered from a distance, and in a very few minutes four other wolves appeared, ranging themselves in a semicircle at what they considered a safe distance.

“The impudent beggars!” murmured Joe, and, bringing his shotgun up, he let drive at the nearest wolf. This time his aim was true, and the wolf leaped up, to fall dead. Instantly the other wolves fell upon their dead companion, rending the carcass limb from limb.

“I must say I don’t like this,” declared Harry, in something of a nervous voice. “It looks as if they meant business. As soon as that wolf is gone they’ll turn on us again.”

“Here comes a whole pack of wolves!” shouted Joe.

He was right, a distant yelping and howling proclaimed their approach. Soon they burst into view, at least twenty strong, and in a twinkling the two young hunters found themselves completely surrounded!

CHAPTER XI

CONFRONTED BY THE ENEMY

Fred had broken one of his snowshoes while running away from the deer, and Joel Runnell’s first work after Harry and Joe had left Snow Lodge was to repair this.

“You want to be more careful in the future,” said the old hunter, when the job was finished. “So far you have tumbled into nothing worse than a snowbank. If you should slide over a cliff and land upon the rocks, you might get badly hurt.”

“I intend to be careful in the future,” answered the youth. “I am sorry I ran away – now,” he added, regretfully.

“Well, lad, as to that, it’s often much safer to run than to stand your ground. I dodged an old buck once for half an hour, and then escaped only by the skin of my teeth. Something got the matter with my gun, and it wouldn’t go off.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes, two days later. I made up my mind I’d have him, and I traveled nigh on thirty miles to lay him low.”

After the necessary work around the lodge was concluded time hung heavily on Fred’s hands, and he decided to try his luck once more at fishing.

“It’s better than doing nothing,” he said.

“Well, it’s all right, only don’t fall into the hole, and get drowned,” cautioned Joel Runnell. And then Fred disappeared with his outfit, whistling merrily.

Left to himself, Joel Runnell proceeded to split some more wood, and pile it up in a corner of the living-room. To his experienced eye he could see that another snowstorm was not far off, and how long it would last there was no telling.

“We’ve got meat enough,” he reasoned to himself. “And so long as we have wood, too, there will be no cause to worry.”

The thermometer had gone down once more, and he had to work at a lively rate to keep warm. He wondered how Fred was making out with his fishing, and grinned to himself.

“Wager he won’t stay there long,” he muttered. “If he does, he’ll be frozen stiff.”

The old hunter had just carried in his sixth armful of wood, when a shadow crossed the open doorway, and looking up he found himself confronted by Hiram Skeetles.

The real estate dealer was a tall, thin man, with a leathery face and broken snags of yellowish teeth. He chewed tobacco constantly, and the corners of his mouth were much discolored in consequence.

“So ye hain’t taken my warnin’, I see,” snarled Skeetles.

“Hello, Skeetles; what brings you?” demanded Joel Runnell, as cheerily as he could.

“Ye know well enough what brung me, Joel Runnell. Didn’t I warn ye not to trespass on my property?”

“I’ve told you that I don’t know as it is your property. So far I think it belongs to the old Crawley estate, and it’s in the sheriff’s care.”

“It ain’t so; it’s mine, every foot of it.” Hiram Skeetles’ eyes blazed. “I want for you to git out, an’ be quick about it.”

“And I ain’t a-going,” answered Joel Runnell, doggedly.

“You ain’t?”

“No.” The old hunter sat down by the fire, with his gun across his knees. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”