“Fish,” put in Piper; “all kinds of ’em, right out of the water. Wait till I get my fishing gear together and start out after the finny denizens of this landlocked deep.”
“I’ll bet you’re a great fuf-fuf-fisherman, Sleuth,” grinned Springer, winking slyly at Grant. “You know all about it, don’t you?”
“As a general all-round Nimrod,” replied Piper, forking a piece of bacon and depositing it on a slice of the blackened toast, “I’m simply a wonder. The fish don’t have a ghost of a chance when I get after them.”
“Hush!” cautioned Grant. “Speak low. There may be some fish near this point, and, if they should hear you and carry the news of your presence to their relatives and friends, it might produce a tremendous panic among the ‘finny denizens of this landlocked deep;’ and we don’t want to scare them all away.”
“I don’t know much abaout fishin’,” mumbled Crane, his mouth full of food, “so I guess I’ll git yeou to give me some lessons, Sleuth.”
“Piper,” said Stone, seating himself after pouring the coffee, “must indeed be a past master in woodcraft, hunting and fishing. He’s the only fellow who has brought a sleeping bag. I say, Sleuth, where did you get that thing?”
“Borrowed it of Jim Bailey, who outfitted to go to the Klondike ten years ago and never went,” answered Piper. “Oh, you fellows can have your beds, but I propose to do this thing up in style; and, while you’re tossing restlessly on boughs and blankets, I’ll be snugly ensconced in my cozy sleeping bag. They are great things when you’re camping out; Bailey said so.”
Chattering and bantering in this manner, the boys thoroughly enjoyed the meal, their faces lighted by the soft, warm rays of the sun, that was on the verge of sinking behind the wooded range at the far side of the lake. Already the white hotel could barely be discerned, and the purplish shadows were creeping out from the base of the hills. The lake lay like a mirror, with no breath of air rippling its glassy surface. The peace of evening in the solitudes was closing in.
“Let’s hustle up a bit, fellows,” urged Grant. “We must cut some boughs for our beds before it gets too dark. If we can only get some genuine balsam boughs, it will be right fine.”
“There’s some balsam trees back beyond where I cut the firewood,” announced Crane; “but now that I’ve et I feel so lazy I don’t care much abaout cuttin’ boughs. What’s the use to trouble aourselves tonight; we’ve got blankets to roll up in.”