look across country,” proudly announced Stanley.
As Abner paused beside him, gazing out over the spruce and sprinkle of birch, Bub alarmed them by crying, “See, Abner! Look! The smoke!”
“Our camp fire,” said Stanley, not catching the import of Bub’s excitement.
Abner whipped out his glasses and gazed earnestly for a minute.
“You’re overlooking,” cried Bub, throwing forward his rifle. “Look right down below us. See that movement in the bushes? It’s Big Nick following our trail.”
Almost as he finished there came a whip-like report down below the ledge and Bub’s hair was fanned by the passing of a bullet.
“Shoot! shoot!” yelled Abner, as a figure of a man, bowed over as it made away, met their eyes. With one accord Bub and the cruiser threw up their rifles and pulled the trigger. But no cartridge exploded. Frantically working the levers the two tried again.
“Not a shot in either gun,” foamed Abner.
“Great Scott!” faltered Stanley. “I forgot to load them after cleaning them.”
Abner had no time for words. Throwing aside his rifle he sprang forward.
