On and on they went, occasionally slipping down an incline with their snowshoes and landing in a heap at the bottom. Then Fred, who was a little to the left of the others, suddenly set up a shout. “Hi, Joe and Harry, come here, quick! I want to show you something!” Both ran forward to see what their chum had discovered, and a moment later went headlong into a hollow several yards in diameter and equally deep. There had been some brushwood over part of the opening, but this gave way with them, and let them down so rapidly that they could not save themselves. Then Fred pushed on a snowbank and that followed, all but burying them. “Great Scott!” spluttered Joe. “What a tumble!” And he scraped the snow from his face. “What did you call us here for?” asked Harry. “Don’t you think we ever saw a hole before?” “I wanted you to see if there were any snakes down there,” answered Fred, with a grin. “Of all things!” gasped Joe. “Just you wait till I get out.” “We’ll put him down into the hole,” said Harry, as he scooped some snow from his ear. “Not much you won’t!” answered Fred, and ran off to rejoin old Runnell. Joe and Harry had all they could do to get out of the hole, and even then the snow got down their sleeves and collars in a fashion that was far from comfortable. They ran after Fred, intending to at least “wash his face,” but the stout youth took good care to keep out of their reach. “Come, boys, you must keep quiet, or else we won’t bring down a thing,” remonstrated old Runnell, and after that they followed his advice and moved on as noiselessly as possible. A little ahead of them was a tiny brook which, in the summer time, flowed from the hill into the lake. Here some of the rocks along the bank were swept bare of snow. Without previous warning Joel Runnell held up his hand for the others to halt. On some of the rocks, several small weasel-like creatures were sunning themselves. He brought his gun up and the others did the same. “Fire!” said old Runnell, and the four firearms rang out almost simultaneously, and two of the game fell dead where they sat. “Hurrah! that’s a haul!” cried Harry, enthusiastically. “What are they?” questioned Fred. “They look something like mink.” “They are what we call mountain brook mink, Fred,” answered the old hunter. “The best kind to bring down, too, so far as the fur is concerned. Those furs are quite valuable, as you must know.” “I know mink is valuable,” answered the stout youth. “My mother has a collar made of it.” Having secured the game, they moved on once more. Joe was now slightly in advance and brought down a rabbit he saw scooting over the snow. After this nothing was sighted for a long while. Then Fred, who was growing hungry, proposed that they stop for dinner.