Part 4 (1/2)

”Dave, what did you shoot at?”

It was Phil who asked the question, for he had been the only one to see Dave raise his shotgun, take quick aim, and fire into the brushwood lining the river at that point.

”I shot at a rabbit, and I think I hit him,” was the reply. ”I'll soon know.” And Dave skated toward the sh.o.r.e, less than twenty yards away. He poked into the bushes with the barrel of his gun and soon brought forth a fat, white rabbit which he held up with satisfaction.

”Hurrah!” cried the senator's son. ”First prize goes to Dave! He's a fine one, too,” he added, as the students gathered around to inspect the game.

”Thought you said you wouldn't shoot anything less than an elephant,”

grunted Buster.

”The elephant will come later,” answered Dave, with a smile.

”I'd like to get a couple like that,” said Gus Plum, wistfully.

”Maybe that will be the total for the day,” was Sam's comment. He had gone wild-turkey shooting once and gotten a shot at the start and then nothing more, so he was inclined to be skeptical.

”Oh, we'll get more, if we are careful and keep our eyes open,” declared Dave. ”I saw the track of the rabbit in the snow yonder and that made me look for him.”

Dave's success put all the students on the alert, and they spread out on either side of the stream, eager to sight more game.

Less than two minutes later came the crack of Gus Plum's shotgun, followed almost immediately by a shot from Buster Beggs' pistol. Then a gray rabbit went scampering across the river in front of the boys and several fired simultaneously.

”I got him! I got him!” shouted Gus, and ran to the sh.o.r.e, to bring out a medium-sized rabbit.

”And we've got another!” cried Sam. ”But I don't know whether Shadow, Ben, or I killed him.”

”I guess we all had a hand in it,” said Ben. ”We all fired at about the same time.”

”What did you get, Buster?” questioned Chip Macklin.

”I-I guess I didn't get anything,” faltered the fat youth. ”I thought I saw a squirrel, but I see now that it is only a tree root sticking out of the snow.”

”Great Scott, Buster! Don't shoot down the trees!” cried Phil, in mock dismay. ”They might fall on us, you know!” And a laugh arose at the would-be hunter's expense.

On the students skated, and before long reached a point where the river was parted by a long, narrow strip of land known as Squirrel Island, because squirrels were supposed to abound there.

As they reached the lower end of the island Dave held up his hand as a warning.

”I think I saw some partridges ahead,” he said, in a low voice. ”If they are there we don't want to disturb them. Put down the hamper and take off your skates, and we'll try to bag them.”

His chums were not slow in complying with his commands, and soon the crowd was making its way toward the center of the island, where grew a dense clump of cedars. They had to work their way through the brushwood.

”Ouch!” exclaimed Shadow, presently.

”What's the trouble?” whispered Roger.

”Scratched my hand on a bramble bush,” was the reply. ”But it isn't much.”

”Be careful of your guns,” cautioned Dave. ”Don't let a trigger get caught in a bush or you may have an accident.”