At last, just as he was about to shoot off his gun as a signal of distress, he found one of the blazes, and a minute later discovered another. He now had the proper direction in mind, and set off as rapidly as his weary limbs and the ever-increasing depth of snow would permit. "Hullo, Chet! Where are you?" It was a call from Andy, sounding out just as the young hunter came in sight of the campfire. Andy was growing anxious, and had come forth from the shelter several times in an endeavor to locate his chum. "Here I am," was the answer. "Christopher, but I'm tired!" "Any luck?" "A little. How are those for wild turkeys?" "Fine! Now we'll have a good breakfast, anyway." "How is Mr. Dawson?" "He says he feels pretty easy. But his ankle is badly swollen. Say, he's a splendid man, and one of the greatest hunters you ever heard of, Chet. And he's rich, too--he owns a ranch out West and a bungalow down on the Jersey coast, and a yacht, and I don't know what all." "You can tell him I brought down the moose he wounded." "What!" And Andy's eyes showed his astonishment. "It's true. The moose almost laid me low first, but I got the best of him after all." "Where is the animal?" "About a quarter of a mile from here. I covered him with snow, and put a stick and my handkerchief over the spot." "Did he attack you?" "He certainly did," answered Chet. Both boys entered the temporary shelter. Barwell Dawson was awake, and he and Andy listened with keen attention to the story Chet had to tell. "It must have been the moose I hit," said Barwell Dawson. "But I think he's your game anyway, Chet." "Well, we can divide up," answered the young hunter, modestly. The tramp in the snow, and the excitement, had made Chet weary, and he was glad enough to lie down and go to sleep. During his absence, Andy had cut more pine boughs and piled them around the sides and on top of the shelter, so it was now fairly cozy, although not nearly as good as a cabin would have been. In the morning Andy was the first to stir. He found the entrance to the shelter blocked by snow, and the campfire was all but out. The snow had stopped coming down, but the air seemed to be still full of it. "We've got to get out of here, or we'll be snowed in for certain," he told Chet, and then kicked the snow aside and started up the fire, and commenced to get breakfast. They cooked one of the wild turkeys, and it proved delicious eating to the lads, although Mr. Dawson thought the meat a trifle strong. The man who had had the tumble over the cliff declared that he felt quite like himself, aside from his ankle, which still pained him. The swelling of the member had gone down some, which was a good sign. "I guess your uncle will wonder what has become of you," said Chet to Andy. "I suppose he'll hunt all over the village for you."