They had brought no lunch with them, for that would have
been an admission that they doubted their own ability to provide food
for themselves in a country abounding with game.
Nick Ribsam had a paper of salt and pepper mixed, with which to season
their dinner as soon as it should be secured.
The common red squirrels, or chickarees, were so plentiful that they
were nearly always in sight, and, without moving from where they stood,
the lads descried several running along the limbs of the trees.
"Let each of us shoot one," said Sam, walking forth to get a better aim
at a fellow perched high on the branch of a large oak.
Slowly bringing his gun to his shoulder, he took careful aim, and the
game came tumbling through the leaves to the ground, his head punctured
by the cruel bullet. Bowser started at a lazy walk to bring the body in,
but Sam stopped him and picked it up himself.
"I think I will take _that_ one," said Herbert, indicating a squirrel
which was nearer than the others. It was sitting in the crotch of a
tree, nigh enough to be struck with a stone flung by a skillful thrower.
The other two watched his actions with some interest as he raised the
handsome breech-loader. He took a long and deliberate aim, and gave a
grunt the instant he pulled the trigger, and the sharp report broke the
stillness of the woods.
Nick and Sam laughed, for the frightened rodent scampered up the tree
and ran out upon a heavy branch, where he whisked from sight and then
back again, chattering in such a lively fashion that it was plain he had
suffered no inconvenience from the bullet sent after him.
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