“What’ll we do?” growled Art. “Looks like they got us penned in.”
“Oh, but we stopped their rush,” protested Frank.
“Yes,” said Art, “but they ain’t beatin’ it as I can see. An’ when we want to up an’ leave camp, what’s goin’ to happen?”
Frank was about to reply, when Bob who was beside him, pointed with his rifle toward the gap between the two hills, from the top of one of which they earlier had seen the reindeer herd in the next valley.
“Look there, Frank,” he exclaimed excitedly. “What do you make of that?”
“Where? I don’t——Oh, yes; now I see. Something moving.”
Already the short twilight was beginning to lighten, as the sun after its dip to the edge of the northern horizon now swung higher.
“From that valley over the hill? The reindeer we saw when we were up there on the hill top?”
“Why, I noticed that the other valley swung around between those two little hills. The reindeer are just grazing along, hunting new pasture. And, say, Bob!”
Abruptly, Frank wormed his way around to face Art on his right, who was keeping watch against surprise on his side of the little clump of trees sheltering them.
“Art,” said he, “look over there, between those two little hills. Are those reindeer? The reindeer we saw from the hilltop?”
“Reckon so,” said Art, after a critical inspection.
“Well, Art, can reindeer be stampeded? Like cattle, I mean.”
“Well, I’m going to try it,” Frank declared in a determined tone. Still prone, he began to wriggle out of his clothes, and pulling up his legs, to unlace his boots and kick them off.
“Are you crazy, Frank?” Bob demanded, puzzled, while Art and Farnum took their eyes from the coverts ahead to look at Frank in astonishment.
“Crazy? No more than usual,” Frank replied, as he completed disrobing, and now lay naked under the spreading branches of the spruce. “But I’m going to slip into the water and float down to that hill, then get in behind the reindeer and stampede them. You see what’ll happen then, don’t you?”
Bob stared at his companion, wide-eyed. Dawning comprehension crept into his eyes, and he began to smile. Then he chuckled.
“You little hound,” he said, employing a pet expression among the boys, denoting admiration.
“But, say, what’s the idea?” demanded Art sharply, from his position several yards away.