he other.

"Well, that's what I meant to do, and I reckon I did, all right; though
Giraffe was joking me at the time, and he might have upset my
calculations," Step Hen admitted.

"Well, then, suppose you drop your bundle of meat, and take a look,"
advised Thad. "If it gets to warm quarters it's just as well that you
know how many wolves you can account for. Throw them out in one, two,
three order, now."

So Step Hen began working the mechanism of his little gun. Not being
excited, he was able to do this excellently. With the first cast a
cartridge flew out of the rejecting opening; but when he tried to
repeat, nothing happened. He looked at the gun blankly, and tried twice
more; but with the same result.

"No use," remarked Thad, grimly; "nothing doing, it seems. When you
_thought_ you put six cartridges in the magazine, you stopped at
three. And just such little mistakes have cost many a hunter his life
before now, let me tell you, Step Hen."

"Oh! mercy, what do you mean, Thad?" asked the other, alarmed.

"Why, suppose now, several wolves were rushing at you with open mouths;
and when you stood there, feeling able to take care of them all, your
gun missed fire, not because it went back on you, but through your silly
fault in not making sure it was fed to the limit when you started;
things would look kind of gloomy just then, wouldn't they?"

"I'll never go out without being dead sure my magazine is plumb full;
and a handful in my pocket besides, catch me again," said Step Hen,
solemnly.

"That's a good resolution to make, and see to it that you remember it.
But all the same, my boy, it isn't helping us any just now. You've got
one bullet, and I advise you to hang on to that to the bitter end. Let
me do most of the shooting, if it ever comes to it, which I hope it
won't; because I've got a belt full of all sorts of shells, from
buckshot to Number Sevens. Now, shall we go on again?"

"Sure," replied Step Hen, cheerfully.

But when he had managed to get his arms through the loops of his bundle,
and began to heave it up on his back, he groaned audibly, so that Thad
knew full well they would hardly make camp that night, at least not
without several rests by the way.

"How far d'ye think it is, Thad?" asked Step Hen a few minutes later, as
he dragged along behind the other.

"Well, I can't just tell," replied Thad. "It may be only three miles,
and then again perhaps it would tally up twice that. We're going