The situation of their camp, in a fertile little valley, was found to have so many attractions that the Ramblers, by a unanimous vote, decided to spend all of the following day right there.
"Let that other crowd get as far ahead of us as possible," proposed Dick Travers. "It may take them longer to get back, for I'm sure they don't intend to give us any more peace than they can help."
"I think we can afford to forget them for a while," said Bob. "And now, boys, what do you think of building a brush camp, or lean-to?"
"Just the thing," exclaimed Sam Randall, enthusiastically.
A dense wood surrounded the valley. Through its cool and shady recesses, the dark, rich greens of firs and cedars could be seen.
"Why not build a lean-to right in the midst of them?" asked Tom Clifton.
"Old Bill Agnew said it was better to camp in the open whenever possible."
"Why so?"
"On account of insects and because it is generally safer. That ridge over there looks like a good place. It has a gentle slope, which will be just the thing for our bough beds."
"Oh ho, it seems to me there is nothing but work," groaned Dave, with a yawn. "Why not sleep on the ground?"
"You lazy duffer!" exclaimed Dick. "Come on; think what fun you'll have making all these things."
"I feel in a generous mood," laughed Dave. "I'm perfectly willing to give you all my share."
The ridge lay some distance inland, but from its elevated position, the motor boat could be kept in view.
Lots were drawn. To Tom and Dick fell the task of cutting poles and collecting brush for the lean-to, while Dave, with a terrible grimace, set about chopping sufficient fire-wood for their present needs. Bob Somers and Sam Randall took their guns and started to look for game.
"Let's skirt along the river, if possible," suggested Bob; "perhaps we may get a shot at some ducks."
"Agreed," said Sam; "but that underbrush looks a little thick right here; I guess we'll have to go around."
The boys found that it was not an easy matter to push their way along in any given direction. Growth of all kinds was luxuriant. Tangled vines, provided by nature with very sharp little thorns, continually impeded their progress, besides causing much discomfort, as it was hard to entirely avoid them.
They were careful to keep their guns pointed away from each other, and to keep the triggers free from low-hanging branches or underbrush.
At length, after a detour, the greenish expanse of river flashed in view between the tree trunks.
Suddenly a low whirring sound, directly in front, startled both hunters. A flock of ruffed grouse rose and flew with lightning-like rapidity among the trees.
"Too late," sighed Bob, lowering his gun. "Next time we must be better prepared."
"Yes, and what a supper we missed," said Sam, regretfully.
They had now come to an open space. Beyond it, along the shore of the river, was a thick clump of trees.
"Do I see anything over there?" asked Sam.
"Looks like a lot of birds," answered Bob.
"Hope we'll surprise the fellows with a fine brace of something."
"So do I. Look out, Sam. Don't make so much noise."
"My foot slipped on a stone," said young Randall, apologetically.
The boys worked their way forward with the greatest care.
"Just a little further," said Sam, in scarcely audible tones; "then, oh my, what a supper we may have."
"Don't talk," admonished Bob.
He took a long survey through his field-glass.
"Wood-ducks," he whispered, in a scarcely audible voice.
Sam's eyes sparkled. With the utmost care, he followed in Bob's footsteps.
The two finally concealed themselves in the midst of a patch of tall, rank grass and reeds. Not daring to even whisper, they slowly crawled forward, never, for an instant, exposing any part of their bodies to view.
Both being good shots, it looked as if their patience would be rewarded.
But, to their consternation, just at the critical moment, when they were well within range, a shot rang out loudly, followed by a perfect fusillade of others.
The ducks, with cries of alarm, arose en masse, flying swiftly away, while Bob and Sam jumped to their feet, in the greatest disappointment.
"Those miserable fellows again!" exclaimed the former, angrily.
The "Nimrod" had rounded a point.
"Fine hunters, to shoot at such long range as that," grumbled Sam. "What a nuisance they are."
"They spoil everything," declared Bob, in disgusted tones.
Disconsolately, the return trip was begun.
A series of harsh, rasping cries, issuing from the dim recesses of the woods, betokened the presence of a blue jay, while at intervals sounded the tap-tap of that busy workman of the forest—the woodpecker.
They concluded to return by the same route, in the hope of stirring up some other game. Fortune favored them this time, a couple of squirrels being bagged, which partly reconciled them to their previous disappointment.
They found, upon returning to camp, that the three other Ramblers had not been idle. Dave pointed with pride to a large pile of wood, while Tom and Dick showed equal satisfaction in exhibiting a mass of pine boughs, besides a number of poles. Nor was this all. Reposing on a flat stone were three good-sized fish.
"Where did you get them?" queried Bob, in pleased surprise.
"Just a little way up the river," responded Dick Travers, proudly.
"We can now have a meal fit for a king," exclaimed Sam.
"How are you going to cook the fish?" asked Tom.
"Oh, I know," said Bob. "Let's find a couple of flat stones, fellows."
"I saw some down near the river," put in Dick.
He sped off, with Tom at his heels.
"That's the idea," said Bob, as each returned, lugging a good-sized stone. "Now for a fire!"
When it was burning brightly, the stones were placed in the middle of it.
"What is that for?" asked Tom.
"When they get hot as blazes," explained Bob, with a smile, "I'm going to put the fish between 'em, cover the whole business with hot coals, and let our supper bake."
"Another Bill Agnew act," laughed Dave.
"You've guessed it."
Preparations continued, and after an interval, Bob sang out: "Those stones must be hot enough by this time."
"Red hot, except that you can't see it," laughed Sam. "Hey there, be careful not to roll 'em out on my feet."
Bob laughed.
"Keep out of the way of the cook, then."
The fish were placed between the stones, then covered with hot embers.
"Smells good, fellows, doesn't it?" observed Dave. "I can hardly wait."
The feast was even more delicious than they had been led to expect from the appetizing odor, and Dave voiced the sentiments of all when he declared that nothing could beat a meal out in the open.
The lean-to had to be made quickly, as night was settling over the scene. The boys, therefore, started work with a will. A lean-to might be described as a shelter, having one sloping side, which also acts as the roof, and two vertical, the front being left open. By driving two stout poles into the ground, about a dozen feet apart and securing a cross piece at the top, they readily provided the principal framework. Numerous saplings were next placed at short intervals against it. Dick Travers busied himself forcing the ends into the ground, while the other boys began placing spruce and hemlock boughs, in thick layers, upon the sloping top thus formed. The sides were then attended to in the same manner.
By the glare of the camp-fire, the lean-to was completed. Bob and his companions surveyed its cozy appearance with much pride, but did not desist from their labors until bough beds had been arranged upon the ground within.
"Old Bill couldn't have done better himself," declared Bob. And the others agreed with him.
The fire was replenished, the dancing tongues of flame lighting up the surroundings with a fantastic glare. The Ramblers felt those peculiar sensations which come to nearly all amateur woodsmen, especially at night. Never before had the mysteries of nature, as well as the immensity of the star-studded heavens, appealed to their imaginations so vividly. Insects kept up an incessant chant, while from the woods issued numerous familiar voices.
They were far from any human habitation, in a wild region, seldom frequented by any one except an occasional sportsman. It seemed as if they were alone in the midst of a great solitude.
But suddenly a starlike point of light appeared in the distance, then another and another, until four, all moving in the most erratic fashion, advanced slowly toward them.
"What does that mean?" asked Tom Clifton.
The sound of voices reached their ears.
"The Trailers, as I live!" exclaimed Sam Randall. "Just listen to them."
There was no need of this advice. The Nimrods possessed lusty voices, and began using them to their fullest capacity. The result, while not harmonious, proved effective.
"Here come the mighty Nimrod boys
And pirates of the deep,
And every one will make a noise
To drive away your sleep."
"That sounds like more trouble," said Bob, with a laugh.
"Pirates of the Bounding Deep," shrieked John Hackett.
"Of the bounding, bounding deep," echoed the others, in turn.
"And we're just as bad when off the sea,
As real ones on the ocean be."
It was Nat who uttered the last words, which he followed by a series of frightful discords through the megaphone.
Straight up to the camp-fire, in single file, they came, swinging their lanterns, as they ranged themselves around.
"I told you boys that this cheery blaze must mark the retreat of our friends, the little ancient mariners, who sail on land and try to catch dickey birds without the use of salt," laughed Nat.
"And we are overflowing with joy at this chance meeting," put in John Hackett.
"And likewise have come to inquire if the birds and beasts who once dwelt here have all been shot?" added Kirk Talbot. "I'll explain the idea:
"When hunters brave as these
Go to shooting 'midst the trees,
Will the birdlets fly away,
Or will they boldly laugh—and stay!"
"You all seem to be poet laureates," said Dave Brandon.
"What has been done for a camp?" broke in Nat. "Is it near here? Say, where did that strange looking pile of underbrush come from?"
The Nimrods had discovered the shelter.
"It's a fine one," said Ted Pollock, admiringly.
"That it is," assented Nat, suddenly reverting to a serious mood. A trace of sarcasm seemed to lurk in his tone, however, and the boys, at first, thought he was merely trying to deceive them. But in a moment he caught Bob Somers' eye, and, nodding to him in his most pleasant manner, continued: "We have come with the olive branch of peace. I hope you bear us no ill will, and if any damage has been caused, please accept our apologies."
"You must excuse our fun; a little joking never hurts any one," chimed in "Hatchet."
"We can stand almost any amount, provided it doesn't knock our boat in three or four pieces," returned Bob, who was far from being satisfied that the Nimrods were acting in good faith.
"The fact is," said Nat, presently, "this seems to be an ideal place for camping out. Why not cast our fortunes together for a week—what do you say?"
There was a strange sort of eagerness in his voice that did not escape Bob's attention.
"We don't intend to stay a week," he said.
"You surely don't mean that you are going to leave to-morrow?" inquired Nat, now all seriousness.
"Oh, no, only—"
"Then we can join the camp, eh—why not? We can have a grand time and forget any little differences. Besides," he added, after a short pause, "the arrangement will only last for a few days."
This started an open discussion, in which all present had more or less to say, but it finally became so evident that the Nimrods were anxious to make amends for the past, that their arguments proved effective. Bob and his companions were, also, quite satisfied that they could take care of themselves should an emergency arise, while they all felt more curiosity in regard to the possible course of the Nimrods than they would have been willing to admit.
The Trailers sat around the fire for about an hour, then, picking up their lanterns and promising to return on the morrow, they bade the Ramblers adieu, and retired in an orderly and quiet fashion.