A more careful investigation of how Fenn had stood when he shot, and a calculation of the angle at which he held the rifle, showed that the bullet must have gone well over Jed's head, so it was not so bad as at first thought.
"But it was mostly my own fault," concluded the odd man, as he drove away. "Never again will I keep on when I see a black cat--" He stopped suddenly, checked his team, and got out of the empty wagon.
"There's a horseshoe in the field there, and it's turned the wrong way for luck," explained Jed, as he picked it up. "I was drivin' right toward it--must have come off one of my horses when I was comin' around to get a good place to toss off the wood."
"Anyway it had the curved, or open side, toward me, and if you go toward a horseshoe that way it's a sure sign that you'll have no luck in a year. A mighty sure sign, too."
"What are you going to do?" asked Bart, as he saw Jed put the shoe back on the ground again.
"Oh, I just turned it around again. Now I can drive toward it right, and I'll have good luck--you see," which he proceeded to do, and, after his wagon had passed the shoe, he got out again, picked it up, and then went on, well satisfied with himself.
As the days went on the weather grew colder. There were frequent snow storms, and the snow did not melt. The Christmas holidays were approaching, and the boys were preparing for camp life, each lad having secured permission to take some time out of school.
One night, when the four chums were at Fenn's house, getting ready some things, and talking of the fun they expected to have, there came a knock on the front door. As the boys were the only ones downstairs, Fenn volunteered to answer it.
"Though I don't know who can be calling at this hour," he remarked, for it was nearly ten o'clock. He opened the door, and his startled exclamation brought his chums to his side.
"There's no one here!" cried the stout lad, "but I was sure I heard a knock--didn't you?"
"Sure," replied Bart, and the others nodded. "There has been some one here," went on Bart. "See the footprints in the snow. It's snowed since we came. Some one ran up, knocked, and ran away again."
"I wonder what for?" murmured Fenn, looking up and down the deserted street. "Probably a joke. Maybe it was Sandy Merton."