e them by surprise," said Fred. "I'd been thinking that we
might come up to the cabin quietly, throw the door open suddenly, and
hold them up."

"They have four rifles," suggested Maurice.

"Yes, but they won't be ready to use them," said the Scotchman. "It's
the only way."

He threw open the chamber of his rifle, glanced in, then fumbled in his
pockets.

"Lend me a couple of cartridges, Maurice."

"Don't say you haven't any! I used the last of mine on those
partridges."

"Then we're done!" Peter exclaimed, and he struck his hand furiously on
the breech of the empty repeater. "Not a shot between us."

They looked at one another hopelessly.

"Come, we've got to do something--or starve in the snow," said Peter,
at last. "We'll hold them up, anyhow--with empty guns."

"But suppose they fire on us?" Fred asked.

"At the first move any one makes toward a gun, we'll jump for him. The
cabin's too small to use rifles in, and if it comes to a
rough-and-tumble, why, we'll just have to keep our end up. But I don't
think it will come to that. We'll have them bluffed."

Certainly it seemed a long chance to take, but, as Peter said, it was
better than starving in the snow. They laid down the partridges, and
began to move toward the cabin.

"Take the axe, if it's by the door, Fred," Macgregor advised. "You'll
go first, and open the door. We'll aim over your shoulders. And
remember, at the first hostile movement, jump for them with clubbed
rifles and the axe."

They went on, rather slowly. The cabin came in view, with no one in
sight, and they made a detour through the hemlocks so as to get as
close to the door as possible without showing themselves.

"Now for it!" muttered Macgregor.

With hearts beating tumultuously, they burst out from the evergreen
screen. But they had taken only two or three steps, when the cabin
door opened a few inches, and four black rifle barrels were thrust out.

"_Halte-la_!" shouted one of the Canadians.

The boys stopped in their tracks. They could see nothing of the men
within, nothing except those four ominous muzzles in the streak of
firelight that shone through the crack.

"What do you mean?" cried Macgregor boldly. "Don't you know who we
are? Put those guns away, and let us in!"

He ventured another step, but a second voice roared from the doorway,
"Stop!"

It was Mitchell. Peter stopped suddenly. The hoarse voice bellowed
again, "Git!"

"What's the matt