CHAPTER XXIII
FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW
For several seconds Fenn said nothing. He sat and gazed in blank dismayat the odd conglomeration on the plate that Frank had passed to him. Atlast he asked faintly:
"Is it--is it all this--this way?"
"Mine is," declared Bart.
"And mine," added Ned, while William simply passed up his plate forinspection.
"It's a trick! A mean trick!" burst out Fenn indignantly. "And I knowwho did it! Frank Roscoe, you did this to get even with us for mymistake about putting soap powder in the cocoanut box, so that it gotinto the pancakes! But that wasn't my fault."
"You had no right to take the cocoanut out of a box, and put soap powderin without telling a fellow," replied Frank. "If it hadn't been for thatmy cakes would have been a success, and I suppose if you'd been morecareful your plum pudding wouldn't have so much trash in. As it is Idon't see how we can eat it," and he poked gingerly at the mess on hisplate.
"Well, you fellows may call this a joke, but I don't!" burst out Fenn,now angry in earnest, and he started to leave the table.
"Hold on, old chap. Wait a minute," advised Bart, soothingly. "I guessit's gone far enough. William, just hand out the other pudding, willyou?"
The visitor, with a grin, took a covered dish from behind the stove,where it had been set to keep warm. He lifted off the cover, anddisplayed to the astonished Fenn the original plum pudding, smellingmost delicious, and smoking hot.
"Try some of this," said Ned. "Maybe it will be better."
"But I--what--where--what makes--is it----" stammered Fenn, and then hischums burst into a laugh.
"Yes, it's the original pudding," explained Frank. "We just wanted tohave a little fun with you, that's all. We hid away the pudding youmade, and, at the last minute, substituted one of our own that containedall the odds and ends we could pick up in camp, held together with a lotof dough. I guess we can throw it away now, and eat the real thing," andhe emptied his plate, and those of his companions, of the dubious mess,and dished out some of the real plum pudding.
"Ah! Um! This is something like!" murmured Ned, with his mouth full."Great stuff, Stumpy!"
"Do you like it?" asked the now delighted Fenn.
"Sure!" came in an enthusiastic chorus, and the Christmas dinner waswell rounded off by the pudding that Fenn had made with such care.
William spent the remainder of the day in camp with his friends. Theywent for a walk in the afternoon, did some shooting at targets, for Bartdecreed that the game must have a holiday as well as the hunters, and atnight, inside the snug tent, with the fire blazing brightly in thestove, and the cold wind blowing outside, they spent a jolly evening,singing songs and telling stories.
William bade his friends good-bye the next morning, and started offthrough the woods, with his pack upon his back. The chums felt a littlelonesome after his departure, but it soon wore off, for there was muchto do, to get in wood and water, straighten up the camp, and prepare fora storm, which, according to all the evidences, was soon to break.
It did that night. All the next day, the following night, and part ofthe next day the wind blew with unabated violence, and the snow washeaped in big drifts.
Fortunately the camp was in a sheltered position, and the drifts werenot high immediately around it, but when the boys ventured out theyfound it hard traveling, for the snow was deep. All around, the woodswere covered with a mantle of white, which had sifted down through thetrees, while the firs, spruces, hemlocks and pines, which had heavyfoliage that caught the white crystals, were mounds of white.
"It's a good thing we had plenty to eat," observed Bart, as he and hischums looked around the camp, "for we never could have gotten it duringthe storm."
"That's right," agreed Fenn, "but, as it is, we'll have to get somethingsoon, unless we want to live on canned stuff. The fresh meat is nearlygone." For, while practically prisoners in their tents during the storm,they had eaten considerable, and the cupboard was somewhat depleted.
"Oh, we'll soon stock up again," declared Bart. "It will be good huntingnow, and, though we can't shoot any deer, I may get a chance at anotherbear, and there will be plenty of rabbits and game birds. We'll take achance at it after breakfast."
They started out, taking care to have their compasses with them, thoughthey did not expect to go far. No bears were to be seen, but partridge,pheasants and wild turkeys were plentiful, and, in addition to gettinga supply of these, they shot several rabbits.
In the tent that evening, before going to bed, the boys were cleaningtheir guns, in anticipation of a hunt the following day. Suddenly Fenn,who was nearest the flap, uttered a word of caution.
"Listen," he said in a whisper. "I think I hear something."
The others became silent at once, but they heard nothing.
"Guess it was the wind, Stumpy," observed Bart, as he put an oiled ragdown the barrel of his rifle.
"Maybe," assented the stout lad, as he arose and peered out. He cameback, remarking: "I didn't see anything, but I thought I heard some oneprowling around."
It was not until the next morning that the boys recalled the incident ofthe night previous. Then Frank, who was walking about the cleared spacein front of the tents, to get up an appetite, as he expressed it,uttered a cry of wonder.
"Look here!" he shouted.
"What?" cried Fenn, running up to him.
"A turtle!" went on Frank, picking up one of the reptiles that wasslowly crawling along, made sluggish by the cold. "Here's a mud turtle,and see, some one has been walking around here," and he pointed tofootprints in the snow.
"I was sure I heard some one last night," declared Fenn, triumphantly.
"That mysterious man again, I'll wager a cookie!" exclaimed Bart. "Butwhat is the turtle doing here? Is it the same one you had, Stumpy?"
"No, it's a different kind. Maybe that mysterious man dropped it, andwas hunting around for it."
"Hard to tell," remarked Frank. "Anyhow, isn't it rather queer, Stumpy,to see mud turtles out this time of year?"
"Sure it is. They don't come out by themselves to play around in thesnow. Either some one dug this one up, or some one had it and droppedit. Well, I guess the best thing we can say is that it's part of themystery. If we could only meet with that man who seems so afraid ofmeeting us, matters might be explained. As it is----" Fenn could onlyfinish by a shrug of his shoulders.
Bart Keene's Hunting Days; or, The Darewell Chums in a Winter Camp Page 23