The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport. Stratemeyer Edward

but otherwise the atmosphere was clear, and as the wind was at their backs they made rapid progress in the direction of Pine Island. The lodge which Joel Runnell had mentioned was situated near the upper shore, so that they would have to skirt the island for over a mile before reaching the spot.

      Inside of an hour they had passed out of sight of Lakeport, and now came to a small island called the Triangle, for such was its general shape. Above the Triangle the lake narrowed for the distance of half a mile, and here the snow had drifted in numerous ridges from a foot to a yard high.

      “This isn’t so nice,” observed Harry, as they tugged at the ropes of the sleds.

      “I’ll go ahead and break the way,” said Joel Runnell, and then he continued, suddenly, “There is your chance!”

      “Chance for what?” asked Harry.

      “Chance for wild turkeys. They’ve just settled in the woods on the upper end of the Triangle.”

      “Hurrah!” shouted Joe. “Where is my gun?”

      He had it out in an instant, and Fred and Harry followed suit – the latter forgetting all about his precious camera in the excitement.

      “You can go it alone this time,” said the old hunter. “Show me what you can do. I’ll watch the traps.”

      In a moment they were off, and five minutes of hard skating brought them to the shore of the Triangle. Here they took off their skates, and then plunged into the snow-laden thickets.

      “Make no noise!” whispered Joe, who was in advance. “Wild turkeys are hard to get close to.”

      “Oh, I know that,” came from Fred. “I’ve tried it more than half a dozen times.”

      As silently as ghosts the three young hunters flitted through the woods, each with his gun before him, ready for instant use.

      Presently they saw a little clearing ahead, and Joe called a halt. They listened intently and heard the turkeys moving from one tree to another.

      “Now then, watch out – and be careful how you shoot,” cautioned Joe, and moved out into the open.

      A second later he caught sight of a turkey, and blazed away. The aim was true, and the game came down with a flutter. Then Harry’s gun rang out, followed by a shot from Fred. Two more turkeys had been hit, but neither was killed.

      “They mustn’t get away!” cried Fred, excitedly, and blazed away once more. But his aim was wild, and the turkey was soon lost among the trees in the distance.

      Harry was more fortunate, and his second shot landed the game dead at his feet. Joe tried for a second turkey, but without success.

      “Never mind, two are not so bad,” said Harry, “It’s a pity you didn’t get yours,” he went on, to Fred.

      “Oh, I’ll get something next time, you see if I don’t,” replied the stout youth. “I don’t care for small game, anyway. A deer or a bear is what I am after.”

      “Well, I hope you get all you want of deer and bear,” put in Joe; and then they hastened to rejoin Joel Runnell, and resume the journey.

      CHAPTER VII

      THE FIRST DAY IN CAMP

      “Got two, did you?” came from Joel Runnell, when the party came up. “That’s a good deal better than I looked for.”

      “I hit a third, but it got away from me,” said Fred.

      “You mustn’t mind that. I’ve seen young gunners go out more than once and not bring a thing down,” returned the old hunter.

      Once more the journey up the lake was resumed, and an hour later they came in sight of Pine Island; a long narrow strip of land, located half a mile off the western shore. The island lay low at either end, with a hill about a hundred feet high in the middle. On the hill there was a patch of trees that gave to the place its name, and trees of other varieties lined the shores, interspersed here and there with brushwood. There were half a dozen little coves along the eastern shore, and two small creeks near the southern extremity.

      As the party drew closer to the island they saw that all the trees were heavily laden with snow, and many of the bushes were covered.

      “Pretty well snowed up, isn’t it?” remarked Joe.

      “I’m going to take a picture of the island,” said Harry, and proceeded to get out his camera, which was a compact affair, taking film pictures four by five inches in size.

      “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!”