“Man overboard!” shouted Grant, running forward as he called. He did not know whether to laugh or to be worried. One thing was certain though and that was that George like his three companions was perfectly at home in the water. All four were expert swimmers so that barring accidents they had little to fear from falling overboard.
“He’s all right,” cried John. “Help me hold this anchor, somebody.”
Grant grasped the chain and one more heave was sufficient to bring the anchor up on the deck of the Balsam. Before this could be done, however, George came to the surface choking and spluttering.
“I’ll fix you for that, String,” he gasped, shaking his fist at John.
“For what?” demanded John.
“You know all right.”
“Why, Pop,” said John reprovingly.
“Keep her up into the wind, Fred,” shouted Grant who was seated at the tiller. “Let your sheet run. Here, Pop, give me your hand.”
“I’d better go down to the stern and get aboard there,” said George. “I think it will be a little easier.”
“All right; go ahead.”
George floated alongside the Balsam until he came to the stern and a moment later had swung himself on board the boat. He was drenched to the skin but laughing in spite of himself.
“Do you want to change your clothes, Pop?” asked Grant.
“No, it’s hot to-day. They’ll dry out in no time.”
“Ease her off then, Fred,” Grant directed. “We may as well get started.”
Fred put the helm over, the sail filled and the Balsam began to slip through the water at a good rate. The four boys sat around the tiny cockpit, Fred at the tiller and Grant tending sheet. In a few moments they had emerged from the little harbor and had entered upon the open waters of the lake.
“Well, String,” observed George who was busily engaged in wringing water from the bottoms of his duck trousers, “you certainly did it well.”
“Did what well?” demanded John.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You meant to shove me overboard and I know it so there’s no use in you trying to bluff. You were very skillful about it and I guess you got square with me all right. We’ll call it even and quit.”
“I did do it pretty well, didn’t I?” grinned John.
“Yes, you did, but I think the way I soaked you and Fred was just as good.”
“You didn’t see a water bug then?”
“No, and you didn’t slip either.”
“Yes, I did; on purpose though. Let’s call it off now.”
“I’m agreeable,” laughed George, “even if you did get the better of me.”
“How about me?” demanded Fred. “Pop wet me just as much as he did String and I don’t see that I am even with him yet.”
“You ‘tend to your sailing,” laughed George. “That’ll have to satisfy you.”
“I can steer you on a rock you know,” warned Fred.
“Don’t do it though,” begged Grant. “I’m an innocent party and I’d suffer just as much as the others.”
“Where shall we sail?” asked George.
“Fred and I thought we might go down to the other end of the lake,” said John. “There’s a camp down there, I believe, and we might see who is in it.”
“Go ahead,” exclaimed George. “Meanwhile I think I’ll try to get my clothes dry,” and suiting the action to the word he divested himself of everything he had on, which was not much. The few articles of clothing thus taken off he spread flat on the deck of the boat so that they might get the full benefit of the sun’s rays.
The day was bright and not a cloud appeared in the sky. A gentle breeze blew across the lake barely ruffling the water. Consequently the Balsam sailed on an even keel and scant attention was necessary to keep her pointing in the right direction.
“How about trolling?” exclaimed Fred all at once.
“What do you mean by that?” asked George.
“You mean to say you don’t know what trolling is?”
“If I had I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?” laughed George.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Fred. “Trolling is fishing in a certain way. When you troll you sit in a moving boat and trail your line out behind you. As a rule you use a spoon or live bait so that it gives the appearance of swimming. People usually fish for pickerel that way.”
“Let’s try it,” cried George enthusiastically. “Who’s got a spoon?”
“I have,” said Grant. “Hold this sheet and I’ll put it on my line.”
“Any pickerel in this lake, I wonder,” remarked John.
“There ought to be lots of them,” said Fred.
“Bass and perch too, I guess,” John added.
“Perch are fine eating,” exclaimed George. “I’ve eaten them cooked in a frying pan with lots of butter and bacon,” and he sighed blissfully at the recollection.
“Did you ever eat brook trout fried in bacon and rolled in corn meal?” asked Fred.
“Not yet,” laughed George. “I hope to before long, though.”
“Well when you do you’ll know you’ve tasted the finest thing in the world there is to eat,” said Fred with great conviction.
“Is it better than musk melon?”
“A thousand times.”
“Whew!” whistled George. “Is it better than turkey?”
“A million times.”
“Say,” exclaimed George. “Is it better than ice cream?”
“It’s better than anything, I tell you,” Fred insisted.
“I’ll take your word for it,” laughed George. “I’d like to try it myself pretty soon though.”
“Here’s your spoon,” said Grant, holding out the rod to George.
“You’re going to fish, yourself,” said George firmly.
“Not at all. I got it for you.”
“Why should I try it any more than you?”
“Because I want you to. Go ahead.”
“If you insist, I suppose I’ll have to,” laughed George and dropping the spoon overboard he let the line run out.
“How much line do I need?” he asked.
“Oh, about fifty or sixty feet I should think,” said Grant.
“Well, I don’t know much about it,” remarked John breaking in on the conversation; “but it doesn’t seem to me that we are making enough headway to keep that metal spoon from sinking.”
“I’m afraid not myself,” agreed Grant. “The wind seems to be dying down all the time and we’ll be becalmed if we’re not careful.”
“I’ll try it a few minutes anyway,” said George. “I might get something.”
“All you’ll get is sunburned, I guess,” laughed Fred. “You’d better put your clothes on or you’ll be blistered to-morrow.”
“That’s right, Pop,” said Grant. “I’d get dressed if I were you.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” George agreed. “Here, String, you take the rod.”
Scarcely had John taken the rod in his hands when he felt a violent tug at the line. The reel sang shrilly and then was still.
“You’ve hooked one,” cried Fred excitedly. “Reel in as fast as you can.”
“Bring the boat around, Fred,” shouted Grant. “Come up into the wind.”
Fred did as he was directed, while John strove desperately to reel in his line. At first there was no resistance and then all at once the rod bent double.
“Say!” exclaimed George, “it must be a whale!”
“It’s bottom,” said John disgustedly. “The old spoon sank just as I said it would and I’ve caught a log.”
“Don’t break the line whatever you do,” warned Grant. “Swish your rod back and forth.”
“It’s caught fast,” said John, following Grant’s directions.
“Keep it up, you’ll get it loose yet.”
Suddenly the hook was released and as John reeled in there was no resistance to be felt at all. A moment later the spoon appeared and pierced by the hook was a small chip of water-soaked wood showing that it was some sunken log that had deceived the boys at first.
“That trolling business is great all right, isn’t it?” laughed George, now completely dressed once more and ready for anything.
“I’ll take you out in one of the canoes some day and prove to you that it’s all right,” said Fred warmly. “You—”
He suddenly stopped speaking and looked up. “I thought I felt a drop of rain,” he remarked in surprise.
“You did,” exclaimed Grant. “Just look there. Here comes a squall and we’re in for it all right. This is no joke.”
“Quick, Fred!” cried Grant. “Bring her up into the wind. You help me let down this sail, Pop.”
An angry gust of wind scudding across the lake, caught the catboat and made her heel far over.
“Let go your sheet, Fred!” shouted Grant. “Quick or we’ll upset.”
He and George sprang forward and feverishly tried to loosen the ropes that held the sail aloft. The wind was increasing in strength now, however, and the boat was becoming more difficult to manage every moment. The sky was inky black and sharp flashes of lightning cut the clouds from end to end. The thunder roared and echoed and reëchoed over the wooded mountains round about. It was now raining hard.
“Keep that sheet clear of everything,” cried Grant, who usually assumed command in every crisis. “Let it run free whatever you do.”
“You hurry with that sail,” retorted Fred.
“They’re doing their best I guess,” said John.
“If they don’t get it down soon we’ll go over,” cried Fried. “I can hardly hold her now.”
“Can I help you, Grant?” asked John, striving to make his way forward. The boom, however, swung violently back and forth threatening to knock him overboard every second. It was almost impossible to keep out of its way in the tiny catboat.
“Go sit down,” cried Grant. “We’ll get it down in a second.”
The rain now fell in torrents. The wind whistled and shrieked all about them and it seemed as if at any moment the sail must be torn to shreds and the mast ripped from its socket. Lucky it was that Fred was an experienced sailor and endowed with nerve as well. The squall drove the boat backwards but Fred managed to keep her nose pointed straight into the teeth of the gale. Otherwise the Balsam could not have lived two minutes.
“Why don’t they hurry with that sail?” exclaimed Fred peevishly.
“They are hurrying,” said John. “The ropes are wet and they’re nervous.”
“Ah, there it comes,” cried Fred suddenly. “Now we’ll stand a chance.”
With a rush the sail came down, its folds almost completely covering the four boys in the boat. The strain on the tiller was greatly relieved however and the Balsam maintained a more even keel.
“Whew!” exclaimed George, groping his way astern. “What a storm this is!”
“I never saw it rain so hard,” said John. “Just look; you can’t see more than about ten feet.”
“We’ll go aground if we’re not careful.”
“How can we stop it?” demanded Fred. “We’re at the mercy of the storm.”
“Throw the anchor overboard,” suggested George.
“A good idea, Pop,” exclaimed Grant. “Come along and I’ll help you.”
“You’ll get struck by lightning,” warned Fred, half seriously. The flashes were blinding and almost continuous. The thunder ripped and roared all around and so near at hand was the center of the storm that sometimes the smell as of something burning could be detected in the air.
“That anchor will never hold us,” said John who sat in the stern, huddled close to Fred. Grant and George were feeling their way forward.
“Don’t throw the lunch basket over by mistake,” called Fred.
“The lunch won’t be worth much now, I’m afraid,” said John ruefully.
“Oh, I don’t know; it’s under the deck.”
“I know, but the boat has a lot of water in her now and if it touches that basket it will soon soak through.”
“How deep is this lake?”
“I’ve no idea. I don’t even know where we are.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to run ashore all of a sudden somewhere.”
“The anchor ought to catch before that happens,” said John. “It’s trailing now you know.”
“I know it is, but suppose we hit a lone rock.”
“We’re running that chance. I don’t know what we can do about it.”
“Are you trying to steer, Fred?” asked Grant who together with George had now crawled back to the stern of the boat.
“I’m trying to keep her headed with the waves; that’s all I can do.”
“I know it. I think the squall’s letting up some though.”
“Perhaps it is,” agreed John. “It does seem a little bit lighter.”
“It isn’t raining so hard either,” observed Grant. “These squalls stop just as quickly as they start sometimes.”
“The lake must be deep here,” said Fred. “How long is that anchor chain?”
“About fifteen feet I guess,” said John.
“That ought to keep us from going ashore anyway,” exclaimed Fred. “Who said this storm was over?”
“It must be coming back,” said Grant. “It certainly let up for awhile though.”
“But it’s making up for it now all right,” observed George. “I’m so glad I took all that trouble to get my clothes dry.”
The four boys looked at one another and could not help laughing. Every one of them was drenched through to the skin and no one had a dry stitch of clothes on. The rain pelted them mercilessly and the water ran off their faces in streams. All huddled together, they made a forlorn looking party.
“This is what all campers get I suppose,” remarked George.
“They certainly do,” agreed Grant. “Some of them get it worse than this too.”
“Do you suppose our tent is still there?” inquired John.
“Let’s hope so,” exclaimed George fervently. “We’d be in a nice fix if we found it blown away when we got back.”
“If we do get back,” said Fred dolefully.
“What’s the matter with you, Fred?” demanded Grant. “You don’t think we’re all going to die or be killed, do you?”
“I don’t know. This is a bad storm and we can’t see where we are.”
“But the anch—”
There was a sudden jolt. Every boy was almost thrown from his seat as the boat came to a quick stop. Then the bow swung slowly around and a moment later the Balsam was pointed straight into the wind, her anchor chain taut.
“We’re aground,” cried George.
“Not at all,” corrected Grant. “The anchor chain has caught, that’s all.”
“Where are we?”
“I can’t see.”
“We must be somewhere near shore,” said John.
“We might be on a shoal.”
“No, there’s land,” cried John. “I can see it.”
“Maybe it’s on our island,” said George. “Wouldn’t that be queer.”
“Well, I wish the old storm would be over so we can see just where we are located,” exclaimed Fred. “I’ve had enough of this.”
“You’d better be thankful the anchor holds and not worry about anything else,” observed Grant. “So far we can’t complain.”
“It’s stopping,” said George suddenly. “The sun will be out in a minute.”
“If it comes out it had better bring an umbrella, that’s all I can say,” observed John.
“A pretty poor joke, String,” said George. “Try another one; it might be better.”
“The sun is coming out,” cried Grant. “The storm is almost over, I guess.”
“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Fred. “Now we can see where we are.”
Little by little the rain abated, the wind died down and the thunder melted away in the distance. Before many moments had passed the sun broke forth from behind a cloud and blue sky appeared.
“Do they have many of these squalls around here, I wonder?” said George. “I don’t think very highly of them myself.”
“Nor I,” agreed Grant. “Just look where it carried us.”
“There’s our island,” exclaimed Fred. “I thought it was in the other direction though.”
“So it was,” said John. “We traveled the whole length of the lake, I guess.”
“Right past our camp?”
“It looks so.”
“Suppose we had hit one of those big rocks where I fell in,” said George. “Our anchor wouldn’t have done us very much good there.”
“I should say not,” agreed Grant. “Isn’t that a camp over there?”
His three companions gazed in the direction he indicated and sure enough a big white tent very similar to their own appeared on shore, a short distance from the spot where the Balsam lay at anchor.
“I don’t see anybody around,” remarked Fred. “Do you suppose they’re all away?”
“The best way to find out is to go and see for ourselves,” exclaimed Grant.
“That’s right,” observed George. “Let’s get the anchor up and sail in.”
“There’s a dock there too, where we can land,” said Fred. “Perhaps the people who are camping here have been caught out in the storm.”
“We’ll soon know anyway,” said Grant, making his way forward to assist George in getting up the anchor.
A few moments later the Balsam was making its way towards the tiny wharf in the little harbor. Two canoes lay bottom up on the shore but no sign of any living being appeared.
“Perhaps they’ve gone to the ball game,” remarked George.
“Ball game!” exclaimed Fred. “What are you talking about?”
“I was just fooling and trying to get a rise out of somebody. Of course I knew I could make somebody bite with you on board.”
“Huh,” snorted Fred. “I thought you’d gone crazy, talking about ball games up here in the woods.”
“You two are always wrangling,” exclaimed Grant. “Stop it.”
“I can’t resist trying to get rises out of Fred,” said George. “He’s so easy.”
“Leave him alone,” said Grant. “I wonder where the people are who own this tent. There doesn’t seem to be a soul around.”
“Let’s go up to the tent and peek in,” suggested John.
“Do you think we ought to do that?” Fred protested.
“Why not? We’re not going to steal anything are we?”
“I’m not,” laughed Fred. “Of course I don’t know about you.”
“Come ahead,” urged George. “We’ll just take one look.”
They made their way up from the dock towards the tent. Still no sign of life appeared and when John had stolen one hasty glance inside the tent he reported that no one was in there either.
“Let’s go back,” exclaimed Fred. “There’s no use in staying around here any longer.”
“Come on,” said Grant. “It’s time to eat too.”
“We might eat our luncheon over on that point,” suggested George, indicating a spot about a mile or so distant from the place where they were.
“Eating suits me all right,” exclaimed John. “I must say I’m hungry.”
“And I’d like to get my clothes dry,” added Fred. “I’m sort of cold.”
Once more they set sail on the Balsam without having caught sight of a single occupant of the camp they had just visited. The sun was now shining brightly and the sky was as blue as ever. No trace of the recent storm remained to mar the beautiful day. It was not long before all four boys were in excellent spirits again and their appetites became keener with each passing moment.
Landing on the point where they had decided to eat their luncheon, they quickly set about making preparations for the meal. A fire was soon started and with every one assisting, the meal was quickly under way.
“How soon will it be ready, Grant?” asked George of the cook.
“Oh, in half an hour.”
“Come on then, String,” exclaimed George. “Let’s go back into the woods here and see if we can’t find some berries or something.”
“Don’t get lost,” warned Grant. “Fred and I are too hungry to spend a lot of time looking for you, you know.”
“Don’t worry about us,” laughed John. “We’ll be gone only a few minutes.”
Leaving Grant and Fred busy with the cooking the two boys plunged into the woods and disappeared from view. The trees were still dripping from the heavy rain, but the fragrant odor of spruce and balsam was stronger than ever. The thick carpet of pine needles under their feet was wet, so that their advance was noiseless.
Suddenly, up from its hiding place almost under their feet, a grouse arose with a roar and whirr of wings. Booming off through the trees it quickly disappeared from view leaving the forest as silent as before. The spell of it was on the two young campers as they stood still and gazed all about them. The green leafy aisles of the woods stretched in all directions around them most beautiful and inviting to the eye. A catbird whined from a nearby tree, but otherwise all was still.
“Did you ever see anything more beautiful?” asked John in a low voice.
“I never did,” replied George solemnly. The beauty and the grandeur of it all made them feel as though they really should not speak above a whisper.
“I don’t see any berries though,” continued John.
“Nor I,” said George. “There’s an open space ahead of us though; perhaps we’ll find some there.”
“Some blueberries wouldn’t taste bad just now.”
In silence they continued their walk, even taking care to step softly so as not to disturb the solemnity of the woods. Ahead of them appeared a break in the trees and an open space showed. Here was the place to find blueberries if any grew in that neighborhood at all. A moment later the two boys came to the edge of the clearing which was perhaps a hundred yards square.
As they were about to step out from the shelter of the trees George suddenly clutched his companion by the arm.
“Look there,” he whispered.
Following George’s directions John saw something that caused his face to grow white and his heart to jump. In the center of the clearing and busily engaged in eating the blueberries which grew in abundance all about was a large black bear.
He seemed entirely oblivious to his surroundings and as the wind blew from him towards the two boys he was not aware of their presence. With one great paw he stripped the berries from the low-lying bushes and with his long, eager tongue he licked them up greedily. That his ancient enemy, man, might be lurking nearby apparently did not occur to him. The two boys stood and watched him, fascinated, not knowing whether to run or whether to hold their ground. The bear was scarcely a hundred feet distant from the spot where they were standing.
“What shall we do?” whispered George.
“Wait.”
“Suppose he comes after us.”
“If he does we’ll run.”
All at once the bear looked up. Perhaps some eddying current of wind had betrayed the presence of the two boys to his sensitive nostrils. It is a well known fact that the eyesight of most wild animals is comparatively poor; their sense of smell, however, is correspondingly sharp and it is on this that they must rely to a large extent for safety.
All around him old bruin gazed while the hearts of the two young campers almost stood still. There they were standing within plain sight, right at the edge of the forest and they could not possibly escape being seen. Anxiety as to what the bear would do made the next few moments very nervous ones.
Suddenly he saw them. George and John held their breath and waited. He looked at them steadily for a moment, one paw held poised in the air. Then he turned and with that clumsy lumbering gait common to his kind ambled off across the clearing. Arriving at the opposite side he turned his head and glanced back at the two boys, still standing in the shadow of the trees. Then he continued his way once more and quickly disappeared from sight.
“Well,” exclaimed George. “What do you think about that?”
“Suppose he’d chased us.”
“He’d never have caught me,” said George grimly. “With a bear after me I know I could at least equal the world’s record for the half-mile.”
“Even so, you’d have finished second,” laughed John.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I’d have beaten you out, of course.”
“Maybe so,” said George laughingly. “At any rate I guess it would have been a pretty close finish. Imagine what Grant and Fred would have thought if they’d seen us coming, tearing out of the woods with a big black bear after us.”
“I’d have gone right on across the lake too,” said John.
“Do you want some berries?”
“It’s pretty late now I’m afraid. I think perhaps we’d better go back.”
“Perhaps so. Let’s go anyway; we can come back here after luncheon.”
“That bear might have the same idea.”
“That’s true too,” admitted George. “We can bring Fred and Grant along with us if they want to come.”
The two boys made their way back through the forest towards the lake. Knowing that there were such things as bears in the neighborhood they kept a sharp watch all about them. If they had only realized it, no bear was half as anxious to meet them as they were to meet a bear. Wild animals seldom if ever seek trouble of their own accord.
A few moments later George and John emerged from the woods and caught sight of the fire and their two companions.
“Hey, you two!” called Fred. “Where have you been?”
“Are we late?” asked John.
“I should say you were. Grant and I were just about to eat up all the food and not save any for you at all.”
“Thank goodness you didn’t,” exclaimed George, fervently.
“Did you find any berries?” demanded Grant.
“Lots of them. A good many of them are still on the bushes.”
“Didn’t you bring any back?”
“Not a single one.”
“What do you think of that, Fred?” demanded Grant. “These fellows go back in the woods and stuff themselves with a lot of berries and don’t even bring one back to the two who are working hard to prepare food for them.”
“We didn’t eat any ourselves.”
“You didn’t?” exclaimed Grant. “What was the matter with them; weren’t they good?”
“I guess they were,” said John. “We didn’t try any though.”
“What’s the matter?” inquired Fred. “What are you two trying to say anyway? You found a lot of berries but you didn’t bring any back and you didn’t eat any yourself. What’s the reason you didn’t?”
“Somebody was there ahead of us,” said George.
“The owner you mean?” asked Grant. “Wouldn’t he give you any?”
“It wasn’t the owner,” said George. “It was somebody else.”
“I wish you’d stop talking in riddles,” exclaimed Grant impatiently. “Why don’t you tell us what happened!”
“There was a bear there,” said John. “He liked berries too.”
“A bear!” cried Grant and Fred in one breath. “What do you mean?”
“There was a big black bear eating the blueberries,” said George, “so we just decided we didn’t care very much for berries ourselves.”
“Tell us about it,” demanded Grant eagerly.
“I can’t talk unless I have something to eat first,” replied George firmly.
“Nor I,” agreed John.
“Come and eat then,” laughed Fred. “We too have got something to tell you two when you’ve finished.”
While all four boys were doing full justice to the meal which Grant had prepared, George and John related the story of their meeting with the bear.
“And now,” exclaimed John when he had finished, “you tell us what you have to say. Fred said there was something.”
“We had an idea while you were gone, that’s all,” said Grant.
“Tell us what it was.”
“Go ahead, Fred.”
“No, you tell them,” urged Fred.
“Well,” said Grant, “it was only this. Fred and I were talking things over and we thought it might be good fun if we took the two canoes and went off on a little trip for a couple of days. What do you think about it?”
“I think it would be great,” exclaimed John heartily. “How about you, Pop?”
“It suits me first rate,” said George eagerly. “Why can’t we start to-night?”
“That’s a little soon I should think,” laughed Grant. “We can go to-morrow though if you say so.”
“We can get some good trout fishing up these streams, you know,” said Fred. “I want to get that big trout.”
“If there’s any big trout caught I expect to be the one to do it,” said George very pompously.
“Huh,” snorted Fred disgustedly, “you couldn’t catch cold.”
“You just wait and see,” muttered George under his breath.
“Do you know anything about trout fishing?” insisted Fred.
“I never did any in my life.”
“And you expect to catch a big trout?” said Fred derisively. “Why, Pop, you’re sort of out of your head, aren’t you?”
“Wait and see,” repeated George confidently.
“Do you know how hard it is to cast a trout fly when you’re standing in the middle of a clump of bushes and the branches of trees are in your way all around you?” continued Fred. “Don’t you know that it takes almost years of practice to do it so that you are accurate and don’t catch your hook on everything in sight?”
“Wait and see,” insisted George. “I have a new system.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Fred. “You’re a joke.”
“Let’s go back to camp and stop these two arguing,” exclaimed Grant. “They’re at it all day long.”
“We like each other all the more because we do it, don’t we, Pop?” demanded Fred laughingly.
“Yes,” admitted George, “except that you’re awfully conceited at times.”
“Come on,” urged Grant. “They’ll be at it again if we’re not careful.”
Before many moments had passed the Balsam was once more sailing over the clear waters of the lake and in a short time the four boys arrived back at camp. The remainder of the day was spent in planning for the trip they were about to take and in discussing just where they should go. At length an agreement satisfactory to every one was reached, the arrangements were all completed and there was nothing left to do but wait for the morrow in order to start.
The sun had been up but a short time before the camp was astir. Grant set about preparing breakfast while his three companions packed supplies into the two canoes. Food sufficient for three days was loaded on board; blankets were taken along, and trout rods with numerous flies of course were included.
“Breakfast’s ready,” announced Grant as soon as the work of loading was complete.
“So am I,” exclaimed George heartily. “I’m always ready to eat up here.”
“Not only ‘up here’ either,” muttered Fred.
“What did you say?” demanded George, wheeling around so as to face the speaker.
“Nothing.”
“As usual,” laughed George. “Where’s the food?”
“Right here,” exclaimed Grant. “Let’s see you get rid of it.”
No second invitation was needed and it was not long before every crumb and morsel that Grant had prepared had disappeared.
“Let’s get started,” exclaimed George. “All the food is gone so there is no point in staying around here any longer.”
“You’re right, Pop,” laughed John. “I say we go too.”
A few moments later the two canoes emerged from the little harbor and started out across the lake, headed northward. Grant and Fred occupied one of them while George and John paddled the other.
“I’m glad you’re not in my canoe, Fred,” called George gayly. “Small as you are, I’d soon get tired of paddling you around all day.”
“Is that so?” snorted Fred. “Well, you’re not half as glad as I am for I know that I’d be the one that would have to do all the work and you’re too big and fat to make the work pleasant.”
“They’re at it again, String,” laughed Grant. “What shall we do with them?”
“Leave them home,” suggested John.
“Oh, we couldn’t do that. They’d be like the Kilkenny cats.”
“Who were they?” demanded Fred.
“Didn’t you ever hear about them?”
“No. Tell me who they were.”
“I guess you mean what they were.”
“All right, what they were, then.”
“Why,” said Grant, “they were a couple of cats that loved to fight. One day somebody tied their tails together and hung them over a clothes line. Of course they began to fight right away and they fought so furiously that when it was all over there wasn’t a thing left of either of them.”
“I suppose you expect me to believe that story,” snorted Fred.
“I don’t care whether you believe it or not,” laughed Grant. “You wanted to hear it, so I told it to you.”
“Grant says we’re like a couple of cats, Pop,” called Fred.
“Tell him he’d better be careful,” replied George. “Just because we call each other names doesn’t mean that we allow other people to do it.”
“Excuse me for interrupting,” said John laughingly, “but does any one know where we are going?”
“I do,” replied Grant. “We’re going up that river you see straight ahead.”
“Do you know where that leads to?” inquired Fred.
“Yes. We can paddle up it for about two miles and then we have to make a carry over to another river.”
“How long is the carry?” demanded George.
“Oh, about half a mile, I guess.”
“Whew!” exclaimed George; “that’s a long distance to carry canoes and all the stuff we have in them.”
“Getting ready to shirk already, are you?” demanded Fred teasingly.
“Shirk nothing,” said George. “Wait and see if I don’t do my share.”
“Yes and ‘wait and see’ if you don’t catch the biggest trout too,” taunted Fred. “Why, Pop, you’ll be lucky if you catch your breath.”
“Wait and see,” muttered George darkly.
“Yes, ‘wait and see’,” echoed Fred. “If you don’t stop saying that we’ll have to call you, ‘Wait and See.’”
Just at this moment, however, they came to the mouth of the river and the argument was abandoned, for the time being at least.
“This is great!” exclaimed John. “I always did like paddling in a narrow space rather than on a lake or some place like that.”
“I do too,” agreed Grant. “You feel closer to things somehow.”
“You’re no closer to the water, you know,” remarked George with a wink at Fred.
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Grant,” said John. “I think we ought to throw both of them overboard anyway.”
As they progressed, the stream became narrower and the current swifter. Evidently they would be unable to paddle very much farther upstream and the young campers began to keep a sharp lookout for the carry.
“There it is,” exclaimed Fred, suddenly pointing to a small sandy beach a short distance ahead of them.
They soon landed and emptying the canoes, they started off through the woods to transfer them to the next river. It was necessary to leave the baggage behind to await their coming back for it. Two boys to each canoe they set out, the light boats turned upside down and bearing them aloft on their shoulders. In spite of many groanings from George they reached their destination before much time had elapsed, and then resting the canoes on the bank of the stream they returned for the baggage. This was more quickly and more easily transferred so that a short time later they were once more making their way by paddling.
“Say, Grant,” exclaimed John when they had covered a few hundred yards, “how do you know all about these rivers?”
“Didn’t you see that map I have?”
“No. I kept wondering how you knew so much about the country around here. I didn’t know you had a map.”
“Of course I have. I wouldn’t know anything any other way for I’ve never been up here in my life before.”
“String thought you guessed at it,” laughed George.
“No, I didn’t at all,” protested John. “I just didn’t think about it.”
“Does your map say that there are rapids ahead?” asked Fred.
“I didn’t notice. Why?”
“Because I think there are. It seems to me that the current is getting swifter all the time and I think you’ll find that when we go around that bend up yonder you’ll find rapids ahead of us.”
“Shall we run them?” demanded George excitedly.
“We’ll probably be wrecked if we try it,” said Grant.
“We can see how bad they are, anyway,” John suggested.
“Yes,” agreed Fred. “We’ll ‘wait and see.’”
“‘Go ahead’ is my motto when rapids are concerned,” said George.
Rounding the curve in the river they discovered that scarcely a hundred yards farther was another bend in the stream. Meanwhile the current was rapidly becoming swifter and stronger.
“We can’t see yet,” exclaimed George. “We’ll have to go ahead.”
All four boys were excited now, and there was an eager light in every one’s eyes as they were carried along by the swiftly-flowing stream.
Suddenly they came around the second bend, and spread out before their eyes appeared a long stretch of white water. It foamed and danced, here and there broken by a huge rock, black and ugly looking.
“We can’t run those,” cried Grant. “We’ll drown sure.”
“Go ashore then,” shouted Fred, and he drove his paddle desperately into the water. John and George also fought valiantly to divert their course and avoid the rapids. Too late, however, for the current was stronger than they, and with ever increasing speed they were drawn swiftly towards the foaming waters below.