The Fall had not advanced so far as to show signs of ice on the water, though there were times when the air was very crisp and frosty.

Bluff had remained in camp pretty much all day.  He seemed uneasy, and passed in and out of the tents frequently as though wondering what could have happened to bring about such a mysterious disappearance of his beloved gun.

Sitting by the fire for a time, he would conceive some idea, and jumping to his feet hurry into the woods to search a particular spot where he remembered having passed over on that never-to-be-forgotten night.

Still, when the others returned in the afternoon there was the same look of distress upon his face.

“Talk to me about a pagan and his idols,” said Jerry, aside to Frank; “Bluff has the whole show beaten.  I never saw such a persistent fellow, never.”

“He’ll never be happy till he gets it, Jerry,” remarked the other.

“Then he deserves to have a bad time,” declared Jerry, tossing the bunch of game down before Will and Uncle Toby, who happened to be doing something in common at the campfire.

That night they had a royal feast indeed.  It tasted all the better because the squirrels and partridge had fallen to their own guns, and not been basely purchased in the market.  And doubtless their surroundings had considerable to do with the enjoyment of the dinner.

Will took advantage of the darkness to get a new roll of films in his camera.

“How many have you cracked off,” asked Jerry, noting his occupation.

“Three rolls, so far; about half I brought.  I expect to be careful from now on, and try to get choice subjects.  But I know I’ll never find another to equal that wildcat scene.  Oh!  I hope it is a success!” replied the enthusiastic photographer.

“So say we all,” remarked Frank; “for it will chase the blues away many a time, just to see the look on Uncle Toby’s face, as he clung to that friendly limb.”

“Gorry, but I was mighty glad tuh git my claws on dat limb, Marse Frank.  Wen I seed dem big yaller eyes a-starin’ at me, an’ heerd dat yowlin’ noise, my knees dey jest wobbled together.  Nevah could tell how I got up dar; reckons as how you say am jest de truf, an’ I flew!” exclaimed the cook, able to laugh now at his adventure.

They turned in early, for their rest had been broken on the preceding night, and both the hunters were leg weary.

The last sound Frank remembered hearing was the mournful hooting of the owls.  The birds seemed to have a favorite roosting-place not far away, and from time to time the tremulous sound of their calling drifted through space.

Just how long he slept Frank did not exactly know.  He awoke with a sneeze, and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed Jerry, also starting out of a sound sleep.

“I don’t know—­why, the tent’s full of smoke!  The camp must be on fire!  Wake up, everybody!”