The two boys retired, but it was a long while before either of them could get to sleep. They hated to be on the “outs” with their chum, and could not bear to think of Fred leaving them. The stout youth _was_ angry, and showed it even at breakfast, when he scarcely replied to the questions put to him. The bit of rope still lay on the floor, and picking it up, he gave it a vicious toss out of the window. “There, Fred, let that end it,” said Joe, kindly. “It wasn’t just the right thing to do, and Harry and I are ready to acknowledge it.” “Oh, yes, after it’s all over,” grumbled the stout youth. “If I had played that joke on you, what then?” “We’d have to put up with it,” answered Harry. “Come, call it off.” “I will—after I have squared the account,” replied Fred. But after that he seemed to feel better. The weather had moderated considerably, and where the sun struck the snow the latter sank rapidly. “There will be a good crust by to-morrow,” said Joel Runnell, and so it proved. All put on snowshoes and found walking excellent. “What are we going to do to-day?” questioned Harry. “I’ve been thinking that I would like to try for that bear,” answered the old hunter. “That is, if I can get on his track.” “I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” put in Joe. “I’d like to pay a visit to Needle Rock and take a look around for that missing pocketbook.” “You won’t find much with the snow as deep as it is now,” came from Fred. “We might tramp around that way just for fun,” said old Runnell. “We may bring down some game on the way.” “Will you leave the lodge alone?” asked Joe. “Is it safe to do so? Skeetles and Marcy may come back.” “I’ve got an idea, boys. Let us fasten the door up from the inside, and then come out through the window. After that we can nail that strip over the window, and then the place will be as tight as a drum.” This was agreed to, and a little later found them on their way around the shore of Pine Island. The weather was all that could be hoped for, and the boys felt so happy that they were inclined to whistle, until Joel Runnell stopped them. “You can’t go on a hunt whistling, unless you want the game to know you’re coming,” he said, quizzically. “Oh, I forgot that,” said Joe, and stopped at once, and the others did the same. Harry had his camera with him, and took several time exposures, using a very small stop or opening, so that the negatives would be sharp and clear. Then he took a snap shot of Joel Runnell shooting at a flock of birds—a picture which, later on, proved to be all that could be desired. He also took pictures of Fred and Joe aiming at an imaginary rabbit, said rabbit being a fur cap propped up on a bit of brushwood. “I’ll have a famous collection by the time I get home,” he said. “And I’ll print two sets of pictures, so that Fred can have one set.” And this promise caused Fred to forget the last of the ill feeling he had had over the “snake” joke.