“That’s first-class, boys,” said the guide.  “Couldn’t be better.  Now, all they got were two wild turkeys, some rabbits and one small deer.  I led ’em to a fine herd o’ deer, but they wanted to do the shootin’ all alone.  When it came time to let drive, Felps and one o’ the other men got buck fever and shot wild, and most of the deer got away.  That was one thing made me sick.  They can’t shoot fer sour apples.”

“And they’ll blame their ill luck on you, when they get home,” said Whopper.

“More’n likely.  But I don’t care fer thet.  Folks in these parts know what Jack Dalton kin do.  Jest you ask Jed Sanborn about it.”

“Yes, Sanborn has spoken about you,” answered Snap.  “He said you had brought down some of the biggest deer and bears in these parts.”

“Exactly so, boy, although I don’t want to blow about it.  Tootin’ yer own horn ain’t perlite.  But I ain’t afraid o’ what sech a feller as Andy Felps says.”

That night Jack Dalton told them the story of a bear hunt, which was more than ordinarily interesting.  He said that bears were by no means plentiful in the lake region and yet there were a few around, some of pretty fair size.

“You’ll run across one when ye least expect it,” said the old hunter.  “When that happens, take your time an’ shoot to kill.  If ye don’t, Mr. Bear may come up an’ hug you to death, jess fer the fun o’ it.”

“I am going to set a bear trap,” said one of the boys, and told of the plan, which was approved by Jack Dalton.

Before leaving the next morning the old hunter told them where he thought they could bring down a mink or two, and after his departure they set off, to see what luck they might have.

The weather was now getting colder and there was a promise of snow in the air.  Yet about ten o’clock the sun broke through the clouds and then it grew a bit warmer.

“A little snow will make hunting very fine,” declared Snap, as they trudged along.  “As it is now, it is next to impossible to track any big game.”

The spot Jack Dalton had mentioned was nearly two miles from their camp, along a rocky watercourse flowing into a small lake between Lake Cameron and Firefly Lake.  Here, among the rocks, was a favorite haunt of the mountain brook mink, as they are popularly called.

As they neared the locality, the young hunters looked to their weapons and then advanced with caution.  The water, gurgling over the rocks, drowned the sounds of their advance, and so they came upon the mink without being discovered.

Two of the animals were in sight, one on either side of the small stream.  As all wanted the honor of bringing down the mink, Shep and Snap fired at one and Whopper and Giant at the other.  The aim of the boy hunters was true, and the game dropped down where they stood.

“Fine mink these,” declared Snap, after an examination.  “Just look at the heavy fur.”