CHAPTER XI.

A LUCKY SHOT.

Boxy was about to say something, but Harry quickly placed his hand over his companion’s mouth and motioned him to remain silent.

Then he raised his gun, and pointed to Boxy to do the same.

A brief interval of silence followed, and then, bang! went Boxy’s gun, before he had had time to take anything like a correct aim.

The shot spread out over the fox’s head, and caused him to leap to one side in alarm.

“Didn’t I hit him?” cried Boxy.

Bang! went Harry’s gun. His aim was better than Boxy’s, and off limped the fox on three legs, the left hind one having received part of the charge of shot.

“You hit him, even if I didn’t!” yelled Boxy. “But he’ll get away from us, I’m afraid!”

“Hurry and load up!” cried Harry. “We can get him if we try.”

They reloaded the guns with all possible speed, running after the fox as they did so. It was hard work with the skates on their feet, and just as they got the animal again in sight Boxy tripped and went down on his knees in a hollow.

His gun went off as he tumbled, and the shot grazed the fox’s neck, causing a painful wound.

The animal let out a yelp of rage, and turned to leap down into the very hollow into which Boxy had tumbled.

“Shoot him, Harry!” cried the boy, in sudden terror. “He’s coming after me!”

Boxy was partly right. As the fox reached the bottom of the opening he spied Boxy, and, feeling ugly, he did not attempt to get away, but sprang directly for Boxy’s face.

It was a thrilling moment, for, though small, a fox is exceedingly savage when aroused, and with his long, sharp teeth can do serious damage.

Boxy squirmed to one side, and the animal landed on his shoulder. He buried his teeth into the boy’s overcoat, snapping and snarling as he did so.

Then a loud report rang out, as Harry fired. He was not over three yards away, and his aim was true. The fox received the greater part of the shot in his side, and, with a backward leap he tumbled over dead.

It was several seconds before Boxy managed to scramble to his feet. He was as white as a ghost, and trembling in every limb.

“Is he--he dead?” he gasped, as he surveyed the fox from a slight distance.

“I guess he is, but there is nothing like making sure, he is such a sly creature,” responded Harry, and, going up, he struck the head of the animal a resounding blow with the butt of his gun. “Yes, he’s dead enough.”

“It was lucky you hit him,” went on Boxy, gratefully. “If you hadn’t he would have chewed me up.”

“He was a tough customer, and no mistake,” rejoined Harry. “See what a splendid white tail!”

“He’s a pretty big one. Will you take him along as he is?”

“I’ll have to; I can’t skin him here very well. Do you want to go after another?”

Boxy gave a shiver.

“Not to-night,” he returned. “I’ve had enough hunting for the present. It’s something a fellow has got to get used to.”

“I doubt very much if we could get another,” remarked Harry. “The shots have probably scattered them from the neighborhood. They know what a gun will do just as well as we.”

Harry brought out a string from his pocket, and with this tied the dead fox to the barrel of his gun, which he slung over his shoulder.

“Our quarter of an hour is up and more,” remarked Boxy, as they turned to go back to the river. “The others must be close to Rudd’s Landing by this time.”

“I guess you are not as cold as you were,” laughed Harry. “I feel as warm as toast now.”

“Yes, such an adventure is enough to stir up any one’s blood,” rejoined Boxy, dubiously. “But I’d just as lief remain a bit cold hereafter.”

“You may expect greater adventures than this when we get to our winter camp, Boxy. Supposing that fox had been a bear, or even a big wolf?”

Boxy did not reply to this. Somehow, just then the camping out did not seem so much sport after all.

They were soon on the river, and, crossing to the other shore, started after their companions.

It was growing colder every moment, and the breeze on the ice, little as it was, went through them like a knife. They were glad enough when they saw numerous lights ahead, which they knew must be the town for which they were bound.

Presently they came upon a party of skaters, and from them learned that the _Icicle_ had passed on but a few minutes before. They kept on, and just before Barton Coils’ boathouse was reached, they overtook their companions.

“Got a fox, sure enough!” cried Andy. “Who shot it?”

“Harry, and he saved my life doing it,” replied Boxy, and, hardly waiting to catch his breath, he told his story, to which those who had gone on ahead listened with keen interest.

By the time Boxy had finished, the boathouse, at which the _Icicle_ was to be left, was reached, and, leaving the iceboat and the sled in a safe place, all hands rushed into the building to warm up around the red-hot stove, which to them looked to be just then the most inviting thing in the world.

Barton Coils, a jolly man of forty, received them cordially, and soon made them feel at home.

“I’ll bet ye had a most uncommon cold run of it,” he said. “And a cup of hot coffee will be just the thing to warm your inwards, eh?” and he straightway set about preparing, not only coffee, but a whole hot supper for them in his tiny kitchen in the rear.

By the time supper was ready, they were somewhat rested. They crowded around his small table like so many famished wolves, and it was astonishing to see how rapidly the food disappeared. Luckily, he had sufficient on hand, so no one went short.

Barton Coils took a lively interest in the proposed expedition, and declared he almost wished he was one of the party.

“It would make me feel ten years younger,” he said.

“Why can’t you go?” asked Jack. “I am sure we would all be pleased to have you along.”

“I can’t leave here, that’s the trouble,” returned the boathouse keeper. “Otherwise, I would accept your kind offer in a minute, I would, indeed.”

He asked them about their traps, and told them of several additional things it would be best to take along. Andy made a note of the articles, and before retiring went up into the town and procured them.

“You’ll find your _Icicle_ all right when you come back for her, never fear,” said Coils to Jack.

“I know we shall,” said Jack. Then he began to talk to the others, and they all nodded in the affirmative. “See here, we have a proposition to make,” he went on. “There is no use allowing the iceboat to remain idle during our absence, and we have decided to let you hire her out to the town folks if you will. Whatever you can get that way will be yours.”

“Well, boys, I didn’t expect this.” And Barton Coils smiled his gratitude.

“It will be better to keep the runners scoured up than let them grow rusty. But the sail will have to be mended.”

“I’ll fix that all right; and much obliged to you all,” replied the boatkeeper.

There was a large spare room over the boathouse, and in this the boys spent the night, lying on the floor in their blankets in true camping style. Barton Coils would have given them a couple of old cots, but they declined these, for the reason, as Pickles put it, “dat da wanted fo’ to git ust to sleepin’ on de hard side of jess nowhere.”

When the members of the Zero Club arose they found the day as clear as could be wished. The sun was just peeping over the distant hills and not a breath of air was blowing.

“Boom-a-rah! boom-a-rah! boom! boom! boom!” sounded out Boxy, imitating a big drum. “All up, for there is no time to lose if we want to reach the shores of Rock Island Lake before nightfall.”

“Right you are,” cried Jack. “Fold up the blankets and make your toilets just as quickly as you can. Pickles can see to the repacking of the sled, while I hunt around for breakfast.”

“Breakfast is all ready!” put in Barton Coils, poking his head up the ladder-way. “I was just going to rouse you out.”

In a jiffy one and another made their toilets, and climbed down into the kitchen. The smell of the buckwheat cakes filled the apartment, and a big platter of them were ready to be eaten, along with some maple syrup fresh from the grove back of the landing.

“Here’s where I am struck right in my soft spot!” cried Andy. “I’ll miss the buckwheat cakes, if nothing else!”

“Then you had better fill up well,” laughed Barton Coils. “Here you are, smoking hot! Who’ll have the next?”

Forks and knives were clattering right merrily for the next ten minutes. The buckwheat cakes were washed down with hot coffee and cream, and soon all were more than satisfied.

Then came a farewell shake of the hand with the boathouse keeper, and a final inspection of their traps.

“Now we’re off!” cried Jack. “Hurrah for the tour of the Zero Club!”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried the others, and Barton Coils joined in, waving his towel over his head as he did so.

Off they started, through the little town. The last house was soon left behind. Before them lay nothing but hills, woods and a frozen lake. Their outing in the ice and snow had truly begun.