"It's the fellows, as sure as you live!" cried Dick Travers. "Whoop! Isn't that great, Chubby? Makes me feel like dancing for joy."
The faint report of a gun came over the frosty air, following a signal fired by Yardsley.
"Must be the cap'n an' mate," commented the trapper, with hope in his voice.
"Cracky, I only hope we're not going to be disappointed," put in Sam Randall, anxiously. "Shall we fire again?"
"'Tain't no use now," declared Musgrove, decidedly.
On reaching the top of a hill, the eager searchers were rewarded by seeing two figures slowly moving along in the valley below.
"Is it them?" asked Tim Sladder, earnestly.
"I'm sure it is," declared Dick Travers; "I'd know Hackett's thin figure a mile away."
"I don't even mind losin' them furs—if that's the cap'n an' mate, safe an' sound," exclaimed Yardsley, heartily. "Tell the truth, I ain't had a minute's rest fur thinkin' about 'em."
"Hi, hi—hey!" yelled Nat; "hello, Hacky—whoop!" and he waved his hand frantically in the air.
An answering call reached their ears.
"My goodness, but I'm glad," cried Sam Randall, enthusiastically. "This is the best moment of the trip."
"I knew they would turn up all right, though," commented Dave Brandon. But his shining eyes and tone indicated a feeling of the greatest relief. "What is that they have with them—a dog, or what?" he asked abruptly.
"Most likely a 'What,'" grinned Nat.
"Some four-legged critter, sure enough," put in Tim Sladder.
"Bless you," began Yardsley—he shaded his eyes—"what can it be? Youngsters," he added, in a surprised tone, "the cap'n an' mate's got a fawn. Did you ever hear the beat of it? Really—if I ain't surprised!"
"Christopher! They must be getting a menagerie together," observed Nat Wingate, wonderingly.
Swiftly the snow-shoes glided over the white surface of the slope, Yardsley leading the way, and soon they were within easy call.
A chorus of cheers floated over the air, and before the echoes had ceased lusty shouts came from the others.
"Ah, but it's good ter see 'em again," cried Yardsley. "An' they don't look none the wuss fur it, neither."
"Hurrah for the bounding brotherhood of deer catchers," yelled Nat, and above the din which followed was heard Billy Musgrove's loud laugh.
"Hello, fellows!"
"Hello, Nat, old man!"
Enthusiastic greetings, hand-shaking and exclamations followed. Questions, sharp, quick and to the point, were hurled back and forth. All spoke at once, and no one managed to get a clear idea of anything until Yardsley waved his hand for silence.
"Softly, youngsters," he exclaimed; "give 'em time."
"It strikes me you're right," agreed Sam Randall. "Quit that racket, fellows. What's that, Bob—wolves? Say—"
"Wolves!" echoed Hackett. "Did we have a fight?—Well!" the slim boy drew a long breath.
The tumult threatened to break out again, but the pause was well timed, and Hackett launched forth into a vivid description, which was punctuated at telling points by a chorus of "ah's and oh's" from his interested listeners.
"Boys, I'm proud of yer," declared the trapper, beamingly, as he extended his hand to each in turn. "Born hunters—both of yer. What d'ye think of it?" and he turned toward Sladder and Musgrove.
"Ain't bad, fur town fellers, but," and Musgrove grinned in his impudent fashion, "me an' Tim wouldn't think nothing of it. No, sir! Why—"
"But do tell us about the fawn," interposed Dick Travers, impatiently, as Hackett's eyes began to glare.
During the reunion, the small animal had made frantic efforts to escape. The sight of big, lumbering Bowser especially terrified it, but the dog, slowly walking forth and back, kept at a considerable distance, eying the newcomer askance, occasionally uttering a doleful bark.
"Brave dog of yours, Sladder," sneered Hackett. "Wonder it hasn't keeled over. It can hardly stand up now, for fright."
Tim grinned, then glanced, with a rather peculiar expression, at Yardsley. "He ain't never been hisself since he heard them awful screeches outside our shanty," he declared. "'Most had a spell then; but you ain't got money enough ter buy him."
"He's only good enough for the dog pound."
"Oh, but the fawn—do tell us about the fawn," put in Tom Clifton.
Hackett complied.
"Somers will tell you what a corking good shot it was. I'd like to see any one in this crowd beat it," he declared, decisively, as the story was concluded.
"Them fawns, if yer runs acrost 'em at the proper age, are easy tamed," said John Yardsley.
"What beautiful eyes," remarked Tom Clifton, admiringly.
"And pretty head," added Dick. "What are you going to do with it, 'Hatchet'?"
"It goes back to Kingswood, and will walk around my governor's lawn, larger than life."
"Are we going to stand here gabbing all day?" asked Bob, with a comical grimace. "Talk about feeling hungry—and tired—and cold."
"That's so! You sure had a fierce time of it!" exclaimed Yardsley, apologetically. "Come with me, an' I'll make a spread fur the hull crowd—that I will."
This arrangement was gladly acceded to, especially as the last spread had been one to be remembered.
Every one was glad when the cabin came in view, and still more glad when a fire was started. While Tom Clifton and Dick Travers assisted the hunter, the rest discussed the various events which had befallen them.
"No, I ain't seen them fellers 'crost the lake," snapped Billy Musgrove, in answer to a question. "Ain't pertic'lar 'bout it, neither. No, sir; Piker an' Jobson got too fresh. Say, what d'ye think Jobson says ter me?" A peculiarly injured expression crossed his face, and, for a moment, a pair of small eyes blinked angrily. "He says, 'Muzzy, yer got the biggest mouth I ever seen.' Honest, he did, Springate—them was his words."
"But you called him down all right, Billy," grinned Tim Sladder.
"Sure I did! What's that, Springate—you think they stole Pardsley's furs?"
"I didn't say anything to you, Musgrove," said Nat, annoyed that an unguarded remark had been overheard.
"I hearn you, though, that I did. Say, you don't know nothing about it. No, sir." Billy Musgrove leaned back on an empty soap box. "I ain't a-sayin' I like 'em," he went on, looking down on the floor, and slowly twirling his thumbs, "an' I don't know nothing about 'em, but—"
"I reckon we'll never l'arn who robbed me," broke in Yardsley.
"An' I don't keer," continued Billy Musgrove, calmly.
"An' I was going ter say," interposed the trapper, "that now the cap'n an' his mate's got back safely, I ain't a-kickin'."
"See here, Wardsley, what makes you call Scummers 'cap'n'?" asked Musgrove, with a grin and a wink. "D'ye think he's boss? If yer do, ask that long-legged chap."
"You make me think of a purp in a mud puddle—always stirring up things," remarked Hackett, half angrily. "Don't get too gay. I won't stand for it—no, sir. Ask me pal, Nat," and he mimicked Billy's voice so well that the boys fairly exploded with laughter.
"Want to go over with us to-morrow night, and see 'Piper' and the rest, Sladder?" asked Nat, when quiet was restored.
"What are you goin' fur?"
"Nothing special. Just to see how they are making out," answered Nat, evasively.
"Sure thing, we'll go," interrupted Musgrove. "Wouldn't hev 'em think they scared us none. To-morrow night, eh?—Suits me, all right."
"Wonder what luck they've had, anyway?" observed Sladder.
"Them chaps ain't no hunters. Ain't many hunters out here neither;" and at this very obvious insinuation Billy winked several times, and affected not to notice the dense silence which, for a moment, followed his words.
Appetizing odors soon filled the room, and the half-famished wanderers could scarcely wait until the steaming viands were placed on the long table near the window.
The meal was thoroughly enjoyed, and at its completion the poet laureate distinguished himself by promptly going to sleep.
"Let him be, mates," observed Yardsley. "And who's a-goin' with me ter fetch that there deer to camp?" he asked, a moment later.
"I will," said Dick Travers.
"Guess I'll go, too," added Randall.
"We'd best be going soon," continued Yardsley, "or we'll find that the varmints have made a meal of it."
When Yardsley and the two Ramblers started off after the deer, the others began to make their way toward the lake.
As the afternoon advanced, the clouds which still dotted the sky began to disappear, and before dark the last whitish patch had vanished behind a hill. Finally a glimmering light began to show in the northeast, and the moon rose against a steel blue sky sprinkled with stars.
Sam Randall and Dick Travers returned, and announced the success of their trip.
The rigor of a keen, cutting air was greatly lessened by a roaring fire, and the boys managed to make themselves comfortable.
Bob Somers and Hackett, however, thoroughly worn out, concluded to retire early, and while the figures of Sladder, Musgrove and Bowser were yet patches of dark against a snowy background, each was ready for his bed of fir brush.