Before the boys could reach the entrance, the door was opened. A very big man, with a very red complexion and prominent features, stood surveying the group, his face wreathed in smiles.
"Good-afternoon, young gentlemen!" he exclaimed, in a hearty voice. "Step right in—a warm room and nice, comfortable chairs ready for you."
"Can we get something to eat now?" asked Dave, with a touch of apprehension in his voice.
"All you want, sir—an undeniable fact," replied the hotel keeper; "of the best, too—nice, hot coffee, roast beef, potatoes,—an' what would you say to a few buckwheat cakes, with maple syrup?"
"Um—um—ah—but don't say a few," remarked Dave.
"An undeniable fact that they are just the thing for a cold day like this. Put your guns in the corner, boys. Mom!"
Mr. Hiram Sladder's stentorian voice soon brought a response. A pleasant-looking woman bustled into the room.
"What's this, Hiram, a meeting?" she asked, looking at the boys with a smile.
"Undeniable fact that it looks like it," said Mr. Sladder. "But these young gentlemen want something to eat, and want it quick. Is Tim around?"
"No, Hiram. He just went off with Billy Musgrove."
"Too bad! But never mind. Get out the best you have in the house."
The boys drew up chairs around the bright stove, and settled down to solid comfort, while Hiram Sladder perched himself on a stool of rather ancient appearance.
"Strangers around these parts?" he remarked, affably, his eyes roving from one to another.
"You've struck it," said Hackett; "we've been trying to find out ever since we got here where the town is."
"And why they call it Stony Creek," added Tom Clifton.
"Well, just beyond the hill is as purty a little town as you want to see," confided the hotel keeper; "and it's an undeniable fact that the stoniest creek you ever laid your eyes upon flows close't to Bill Manley's blacksmith shop. Going to stay here long, young gentlemen?"
"No, we're off on a hunting trip," said Hackett, carelessly; "after big game."
"Sho! Know much about gunning?" asked Mr. Sladder, incautiously.
"Do we know much about gunning?" echoed John, with withering sarcasm. "Well, say—I've had a few tilts with wildcats, myself, and I'm here yet."
"Um—you can't always tell by looks," said Mr. Sladder, anxious to appease the tall youth's ire. "My son Tim—too bad he ain't here—is a born hunter. The way that boy can shoot and trap! Why, it's an undeniable fact that there ain't nobody in town can beat him. If the young gentlemen want a few good points where to go fur game—"
"Yes—that's the idea!" cried Bob, enthusiastically, drawing forth his map.
Hiram Sladder spread it out on a near-by table.
Surrounded by all save Dave Brandon, he placed a very broad finger on a spot indicating the position of Mapleton, then slowly passed it along the course of a river, and finally stopped at a lake.
Then he said: "Thereabouts! No better place in the state of Wisconsin."
"Plenty of wildcats, and wolves, I hope," said Hackett, with a sly glance toward Tom Clifton.
"Why bless you, you may get more'n you bargain for," replied the hotel keeper. "Now in my younger days—"
"Hiram, it's ready! An' I guess the boys is too," interrupted Mrs. Sladder, at this interesting point.
The dining-room of the Roadside House was large and comfortable, and a bountiful meal had been prepared. From the kitchen came a delicious odor of buckwheat cakes, which caused a look of great satisfaction to come over Dave Brandon's face.
Mrs. Sladder regarded the remarkable manner in which the viands disappeared as a tribute to her culinary skill, and surveyed the boys with a benevolent smile.
"It's an undeniable fact that the walking ain't just what it might be," said Mr. Sladder, who had entered the room. "Now, I've a sleigh—"
"Just the idea," broke in Sam Randall, enthusiastically. "Eh, fellows?"
"Then I'll have it ready for you in a jiffy. I take it that you want to leave pretty soon. Mapleton's a good fifteen miles."
The boys finished their meal, and sat around the table engaged in conversation until word was brought that the sleigh was ready. A moment later, the jingling of bells was heard, and it drew up to the front door.
"I'll be mighty glad to see you again, boys, any time," said Hiram Sladder, as the fellows clambered in.
"Get up, you Prince! Hi, hi, you Bobby!" yelled the driver, cracking his whip, and the sleigh began to glide over the snow-covered ground.
Upon reaching the freight house at the Stony Creek railroad station, "Jack" assisted the boys in loading the various boxes and packages upon the sleigh. Some of their supplies had to be tied upon the sleds, which, in turn, were secured in such a fashion as to trail at the rear.
"Hope yer found the town," remarked the station-master, dryly; "never had sich a question asked me before."
The boys laughed, and waved their hands, as the sleigh began to draw away from the platform.
"Hurrah! Now for the wilderness!" cried Sam Randall, enthusiastically. "We can't get there too soon."
The driver again cracked his long, snake-like whip, and the sleigh-bells jingled merrily.
Up and down hill, between dark, sombre woods, over bridges which spanned frozen streams, then past bleak, barren stretches of fields, dazzlingly white, they went, until the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, and a yellow glow suffused the west.
"'Tain't fur now," volunteered the driver—he pointed with his whip—"jest over that there hill. Drat that bay—the pesky brute's a-stumbling—whoa, Prince—yes, jest over that next hill."
"And it's an 'undeniable fact' that I'll be glad to get there," laughed Dick Travers.
In the course of about fifteen minutes a house was passed, then another, and finally they saw a frame building somewhat larger than those around it.
"The hotel," said the driver.
This information was scarcely necessary, as a large sign in front announced to all that the Backwoods Hotel provided the best of accommodations for travelers.
"Hunting parties sometimes stop at Silas Riggs'—he's the boss," explained the driver. "A fust-rate fellow he is too."
He drew up to the entrance, and the boys jumped out, a trifle stiff after their long ride.
Silas Riggs was "right glad" to see them. His son, a sturdy young specimen of humanity, ambled forward and surveyed them with a frank, good-natured stare.
Arrangements were quickly made for rooms and supper.
Silas Riggs was a jolly old fellow, and told jolly stories—which was better, and the evening passed very quickly indeed. The boys were reluctant to leave the nice, cheerful stove and pleasant room. The wind had sprung up, and, as it moaned and sighed around the corner of the "Backwoods Hotel," sending the old sign creaking forth and back, to mingle its dismal sound with the soughing of the tree-tops, it made the comfortable interior seem all the more agreeable.
But the boys were anxious to get up early next morning, so they bade Silas Riggs and several of the guests a cheery good-night and repaired to their rooms.
Immediately after breakfast, boxes and packages were opened.
"We ought to be well fixed, with all that stuff," observed Dick Travers.
"Rubber blankets enough to start a store," put in Sam.
"An' you'll need 'em," drawled Silas, Junior. "Cold—h'm; an' jest wait till a blizzard gets a-going. An'—an'—but I don't want to scare you fellers none."
"Don't stop on our account, Silas, old boy," laughed Nat; "we're ready for anything that comes along."
Axes, hatchets, hunting-knives, guns and snow-shoes, besides provisions, were securely strapped to the sleds, and, at length, they were ready to leave.
"Old" Silas gave them minute directions as to the best route to take, and other bits of helpful advice.
"On the eastern side of the lake, near the south end, you'll find a cabin," he said. "'Tain't much to look at, but if nobody ain't thar, it may save yer the trouble of building a camp.
"Good-bye, boys," he added, grasping the hand of each in turn; "an' don't forgit to drop in an' see 'Old' Silas when ye come back."
The air was clear and crisp, and the wind had greatly moderated. Before them was a short stretch of open country, and beyond, glistening in the early morning light, rose the rounded tops of several hills.
Dick Travers, Sam Randall and Tom Clifton took the first turn with the sleds.
"How long is it going to take us to reach Lake Wolverine, Bob?" asked Tom Clifton.
"If we don't get tangled up in the woods, we ought to get there some time this afternoon."
"This snow makes hard walking," grumbled Dave. "Say, boys, I've got an idea. I think we're a lot of duffers. What are snow-shoes made for, eh?"
"Yes, what are they made for, indeed?"
"I'm going to put mine on, anyway," said Dave.
"And so am I," added Hackett.
Seven pairs of the long shoes were extracted from the piles on the sleds, and the boys began to strap them on.
"Oh, but it feels funny," said Tom Clifton, as he stood upright. "Wow! Don't think I can manage to walk with them."
"Strike out, like a little man," said Hackett. "Here goes!"
He started off with great confidence, but the end of his shoe caught on the almost concealed edge of a stump, sending the long-legged youth floundering in the snow.
"Hi, hi! You struck something sure, 'Hatchet,'" exclaimed Tom, mischievously.
Hackett's face was very red, indeed, when he picked himself up.
"Talk about mean luck," he growled. "Quit your laughing, Tommy Clifton. Just watch me, I'll do better this time."
Hackett took the lead. Right after him came Dave Brandon, while Bob Somers and Nat Wingate trailed in the rear, all moving in an awkward fashion. But at length they mastered the new form of locomotion sufficiently well to make good progress.
"My eye! look at that whopping big long-ears over there," cried Hackett; "if I'd only had my gun in hand," he added, regretfully, as the bunny disappeared.
"We are hunters brave and bold,
And fear not wind or cold—
When seeking game.
Big birds look out, and small ones fly away;
Wise bears and wolves won't join the fray—
For Hacky's after game."
Nat improvised these lines, his old-time spirit reasserting itself.
"Rah, rah—yi, yi—bing, bang, boom!" joined in Hackett, lustily. "And I'm going to get some game, too. Don't you forget it."
Soon a stretch of pine woods was reached. It grew thicker and thicker, until the blue sky was almost shut from view. Underbrush and trailing vines were in profusion.
The wind had piled up great drifts of snow, and occasionally the heavy sleds had to be dragged around a fallen tree.
From a dense thicket came the harsh, rasping cry of the blue jay, while a noisy flock of crows flitted among the trees.
In places, the snow was covered with the tracks of animals and birds.
"There have been dozens of rabbits around here," asserted Bob. "And look—sure as I live—the trail of a fox."
"A fox?" echoed the others. "How do you know?"
"Because the footprints are almost in a straight line, and you can see the marks of the claws in front."
"My eye! I only wish I could get a shot at him," burst out Hackett, looking eagerly around, as if he expected to see a dozen foxes running to cover.
"Thought nothing would satisfy you but a wildcat or deer, Hacky," laughed Nat.
"A fox will do for a starter. After that, Tommy Clifton must help me rout out a big, black bear from his cave," grinned John.
"Oh, I say, fellows," broke in Dick Travers, "somebody take this sled; I'm fagged out."
"So am I," puffed Tom Clifton.
"And it's the same here," added Sam.
The three boys were relieved.
Maple and hickory trees were now interspersed with the dark hemlocks and cedars, and the patches of sky between the trees grew larger. The woods were rapidly becoming more open.
"We ought to come to the river pretty soon, Somers," observed Hackett, as they paused on a ridge which overlooked a steep descent.
"Unless we do, it may mean that—"
The rest of the sentence was interrupted in a most startling fashion.
The snow upon which they were standing suddenly gave way beneath their weight. With cries of dismay, Bob Somers, John Hackett and Dick Travers wildly grasped at the empty air. Then, before their astonished companions could make a move to aid them, they shot downward, accompanied by an avalanche of snow.