“Everything.”
“Didn’t forget the salt, did you, the way you did when we went camping before and had to borrow of a tramp?”
“There’s lots of salt.”
“How about condensed milk?” asked Bart. “Remember how you dropped it in the river that day?”
“Do I? And how Ned howled because he had to drink black coffee.”
“Maybe we’d better take the sled along,” suggested Ned, as he noticed it was beginning to snow. “If it gets deep enough we can haul the things on it, instead of on the wagon.”
The camp supplies, including a shelter tent, had been placed on a wagon, on which they were to be taken to where the boys decided to make their first camp. On the large vehicle was a smaller one, which the chums could load with all their stuff and haul through the woods, in case they found it advantageous to move to a section where there was better hunting.
“Wait a minute, I’ve got an idea!” exclaimed Bart.
“Make a note of it before you forget it!” called Fenn. “Good ideas are scarce.”
“We can take runners along for the small wagon,” Bart went on, not noticing his chum’s sarcasm. “There are some adjustable ones I made a couple of years ago. Then we’ll be prepared for anything.”
The wagon was one the boys had built for themselves several seasons past. They used to cart their camp outfit on it when they did not transport the things by boat up or down the river. As Bart had said, there were adjustable runners, which could be fitted over the wheels, without taking them off, and thus on short notice the wagon could be transformed into a sled.
It was a crisp November day, with a suggestion of more cold to come, and the first few flakes had been followed by others while the boys waited until Bart, whose hand was almost well again, got the runners from the cellar.
“Looks as if we’d have quite a storm,” remarked Jim Dodd, the driver of the express wagon, whom the boys had hired to take their stuff to a point about two miles inside the woods. The road, which was made by lumbermen, came to an end there. “Yes sir,” Jim went on, “it’s goin’ t’ be a good storm. You boys better stay home.”
“Not much!” cried Ned. “A storm is what we want.”
“I’d rather eat my Thanksgivin’ turkey in a warm kitchen than in an old tent,” Jim added with a laugh.
“Oh, we’ll be home for Thanksgiving,” Fenn said, “and we’ll have plenty of game to eat too.”
“Wish ye luck,” was Jim’s rejoinder.
The adjustable runners were packed on the wagon, a last look given to see that everything was in place, and then, about nine o’clock the start was made.
“Keep your thumb wrapped up!” Alice called after her brother. “Don’t take cold. Drink some hot ginger tea every night before you boys go to bed. Keep your coats well buttoned up around your throats, don’t get your feet wet and – ”
“Say, give us the books, sis,” called Bart good-naturedly, “we can’t remember all that. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye!” called Alice, waving her hands to the chums.
“Good-bye!” the four boys echoed.
CHAPTER IV
THE FIRST TURKEY
“I must say you boys has got grit,” remarked Jim, as the wagon lurched along, pitching like a ship in a storm because of the rough road.
“Why?” asked Bart.
“Leavin’ your comfortable homes an’ comin’ out to a wilderness in winter. Land! I’d no more think of doin’ it than I would of flyin’.”
“Didn’t you do such things when you were young?” asked Fenn.
“Never had no time,” the expressman said. “When I got a few days off I had t’ go t’ th’ woods an’ chop cord-wood or tap trees for maple syrup.”
They jogged along for another mile or so, the road getting more and more rough as they progressed.
“Don’t believe I can take you any farther,” said Jim, as he brought his wagon to a stop before a big bog-hole. For the last mile the road was “corduroy,” that is, made by laying small logs across it, close together, like the ribs in corduroy cloth; whence its name.
The boys helped the expressman to unload, and, with his aid they soon had cleared a place among the trees for the tent. It was put up, and then the camp stuff and provisions were taken inside.
Stumpy quickly had ready a meal, which, if it was not elaborate, was appetizing, and Jim who was invited to it had to acknowledge that the coffee was good enough for anyone.
“Now for a turkey hunt!” exclaimed Ned, when Jim had left and his wagon was out of sight on the wood road. “We’ve got all the afternoon. Let’s get the guns and start out.”
The snow was coming down faster now, and the wind had increased. It was not very cold, however, and they were warmly dressed so they did not mind it. They had a compass with them, to avoid getting lost, and, confident they would return laden with turkeys or rabbits, they tramped on through the woods.
“Say, fellows! Here’s something!” cried Frank suddenly, pointing to some tracks in the snow. His companions ran to where he stood.
“Turkey tracks!” called Bart. “They’re leading off into the woods, too! Come on! We’ll get some birds now!”
The new-fallen snow deadened their footsteps or they would have frightened all the game within a mile, the way they rushed through the forest. They had never hunted wild turkeys, and did not know what shy birds they are.
So it was more by good luck than good management that they suddenly came upon a small flock, gathered about a big gobbler. The birds were in a little clearing, standing rather disconsolately about in the snow.
Bart, who was leading, came to an abrupt halt as he saw the flock through the bushes. He motioned for the others to remain quiet. Then he carefully brought his gun to bear on the big gobbler.
“Aren’t you going to give us a shot?” asked Ned in a whisper. He and the others were standing behind Bart, and could not get a fair aim at the turkeys, as the trail was a narrow one and Bart occupied the most of it.
The whisper, as it was, gave the alarm to the easily frightened birds. The gobbler raised its head and sounded one note of warning. But Bart shot at the instant. The flock scattered in all directions and the other boys fired wildly in the hope of getting a bird.
When the smoke had blown away the chums peered eagerly forward, expecting to see at least four turkeys lying on the snow-covered ground. Bart ran up, hoping the big gobbler had fallen to him.
“Didn’t we kill any?” asked Frank, as they saw nothing but turkey tracks.
“Looks as if we all missed,” remarked Fenn.
“No, here’s one, and it’s a fine one too!” exclaimed Frank, as he ran to one side and picked up a plump hen from under a bush.
“Who aimed at that one?” asked Bart, much disappointed at missing his gobbler.
“Hard to say,” said Ned. “I guess we can all claim a share in it. We each shot one-fourth of a turkey. Not so bad for a starter.”
“I’m out of it,” Bart rejoined. “I aimed straight at the gobbler, and he got away. It’s a third of a bird apiece for you fellows.”
“Anyhow it is the first turkey of the hunt,” observed Ned.
“Yes, and my gun is christened,” added Bart.
CHAPTER V
THE BLIZZARD
“Now for